


The Fires Within

by DarkSeraphim1



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Dimensions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, M/M, Other, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSeraphim1/pseuds/DarkSeraphim1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plot Synopsis: The world doesn’t end with a transmutation, it ends with a Flame. AU, RoyxEd. Canon divergence, Episode 53, Flame Of Vengeance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I was blown away the first time I saw Brotherhood. It completely made up for my disappointment with what was basically the last half (and the movie) of the original anime. This is based on Brotherhood - which made me respect Mustang's character a hellova lot more! - but I’ll be borrowing from the manga and FMA as needed (remember, AU). It’s my first venture into the FMA world - and unbeta'd - so please, be kind=).
> 
> Disclaimer: I only wish I owned the rights to Edward Elric and Roy Mustang and Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. If I did, it would have been yaoi. Yeah, definitely yaoi.

Chapter 1

 

The tunnel stretched out before them, long and dark as it arched and curved towards the very heart of Central. Their footsteps tapped out an uneven staccato as they walked, their voices hushed with something that greatly resembled fear. Most of them knew what awaited them; he, Scar and Mei had already found their way into the Homunculi lair once. Jerso and Zampano had only their descriptions of Father and his power to go by, but even they could sense the evil that seemed to permeate this dark place. It was a heavy feeling that suffused the air, leaving their stomachs tied in knots and their hearts beating faster in the chests. Intangible, but undeniable all the same.

Edward Elric did his best to ignore the unsettling sensation as he looked over his shoulder for the umpteenth time. He could hear the occasional _boom_ of Colonel Mustang’s flame alchemy, always followed by cries of pain and screams of frustration, and he felt a fleeting sense of pity for Envy. The homunculus had no idea what kind of hell he’d unleashed on himself when he had confessed to killing Brigadier-General Hughes, but Edward was willing to bet that he was getting a clue now. The Flame Alchemist wasn’t a man to be taken lightly, and with Envy’s superiority complex in high gear, it sounded like he was learning his lesson the hard way.

But Edward had to admit that he was worried. In all the years that he’d known Mustang, he had _never_ seen him like that. The Colonel might be a smug, smirking, manipulative bastard of a commanding officer, but he was _not_ a cruel man. And behind closed doors, he’d shown himself to be surprisingly. . .gentle, almost kind to those he cared for. It was those times, when they were alone and the rest of the world fell away, that Edward loved Roy Mustang the most.

Yet, the darkness he’d seen in Mustang’s eyes when he’d looked at Envy had been downright. . . _scary_. There had been no empathy in those exotic black orbs, none of the compassion that Edward was so used to seeing. Oh, the arrogance was there – it was _always_ there – but the almost sadistic kind of glee buried in their dark depths had him second-guessing his decision to continue on. Yes, Father and the other Homunculi had to be stopped, but if they lost Roy – if _he_ lost Roy – Edward would never forgive himself. 

They came to another bundle of pipes, this one larger than the others, and he listened almost absently to the others as they began to climb over it. Rancid _chi,_ fear, and Father. Nothing he didn’t already know. He stopped and half-turned, twisting to look down the corridor behind him. The noise had stopped, and that had him more worried than Envy’s screams had. He had no way of knowing if Mustang was still alive, or if Envy had somehow managed to overpower him. 

What the fuck would he do if Roy _died?_

His hands curled into fists as he stared blindly at the ground, and he knew that he couldn’t go on without knowing. “Scar, I need to talk to you.”

The Ishvalan man paused in his ascent of the pipes, slanting an unreadable glance back his way. “It’s about the Flame Alchemist, isn’t it?”

Edward made a small, involuntary sound – of denial, of fear, of confirmation, he didn’t know which – as he raised his head, and something in Scar’s scarlet eyes softened. God, was he _that_ easy to read?

“It wasn’t that long ago that I was a monster. I understand the burning desire for revenge all too well.” The other man paused, his unusual eyes taking on an inward cast, and Edward wondered just what he was seeing. “The way he’s headed, he’ll destroy himself in the flames of hatred, and it’s doubtful that he will ever recover.”

As thought to emphasize his words, flames flared up at the end of the hallway, filling the corridor with smoke and the sickening stench of burning flesh. Edward whirled around, his golden eyes widening as the sound of Envy’s screams came to him again, because this time it was different. There was no arrogance in those horrific sounds, none of the overconfidence that was the homunculus’ trademark. Instead, there was only one long howl utter and complete physical agony.

“Goddamn it, he’s going to kill him!” Edward swung away and took off at a run. “I’ve got to stop him! Tell the others I’ll catch up!”

He didn’t hear the other man’s grunt of displeasure, but he heard the footfalls that fell beside him clearly enough. “You don’t have to come with me,” he snapped, already breathless from the pace he’d set. It wasn’t that he was out of shape – he was only sixteen, for crying out loud! – and Roy had told him that he was nearly at the peak of his physical prowess. No, he was scared shitless that his boyfriend was about to do something stupid and fuck the rest of his life up!

Scar merely grunted again and kept pace with him, and Edward rolled his eyes. The other man seemed able to talk to Al and even Winry easily enough. What was it about _him_ that made the Ishvalan either clam up, or choose his words so carefully that Ed wanted to crack his head open just to get a straight answer?

“You believe in him,” Edward was startled by the unexpected question, “in your Flame Alchemist?”

“Fuck yeah, I do!” he answered emphatically. “Mustang’s going to lead this hellhole of a country to better things, Scar. He’s going to be the best Fuhrer Amestris has _ever_ had.”

He felt more than saw the Ishvalan’s gaze touch on him as they ran. “Then, let us hope that we reach him in time, Fullmetal Alchemist.”

Edward scowled at the formality. He didn’t know why Scar refused to call any of them by their given names, but it pissed him off to no end. He wasn’t _just_ a State Alchemist, damn it! He was a living, breathing person, one who was trying to save his country from a corrupt and literally inhuman government. That should fucking count for _something,_ shouldn’t it?

They rounded a corner and were nearly incarnated as a wall of fire came billowing towards them. Edward’s feet skidded out from under him as he hit the ground, throwing his arms over his face to protect himself. Once the flames had receded, he looked over to see Scar slowly lowering his own arms. The cuffs of his jacket had been singed, and he was wearing a troubled expression as he gazed down the corridor, but he still had his eyebrows, so Edward figured he was good. 

He didn’t bother to check himself for wounds. Half his limbs were automail, and if he’d burned the other half he’d fucking know it. Right now, all he wanted to do was get to Mustang _before_ he did something that would haunt him for the rest of his fucking life. He was carrying around enough shit from Ishval as it was. He didn’t any more “sins” to weigh him down, not when he had the future of an entire country to carry on his shoulders. 

But, God, the stench! Edward brought his arm up and covered his nose with his jacket sleeve, reminding himself to _not_ to breathe through his nose. It helped – a little – but it didn’t do anything for the goddamned sounds. All he could hear were the snaps from Roy’s ignition gloves, echoing and rebounding as they bounced off the stone walls, making the explosive nature of his lover’s special brand of alchemy seem all the more devastating. Roy was using his flames to their full, terrifying potential, as those horrifyingly _real_ screams of anguish coming from Envy could attest. 

And then, it all just _stopped._ The explosions, the screams, everything. All that was left was a silence so complete that it turned Edward’s blood cold with its implications. He closed his eyes and offered up a prayer – to God, to The Gate, to whatever uncaring deity that _might_ be bored enough to listen – and forced himself to keep walking. For the first time since he was eleven years old, he was genuinely afraid. He didn’t know what was waiting for him around the next corner, and he knew that his future – his _life_ – depended on what he was about to see. If Roy was dead. . .

He shuddered violently and banished the thought as quickly as it had formed. Roy Mustang was a tough bastard. He’d survived Ishval, he’d survive this too. They would defeat Father and the Homunculi, and Mustang would fix their broken country. 

And Edward would be with him every step of the way. 

He felt a weight on his shoulder and jumped, surprised to see that they were nearly at the end of the tunnel. He looked up to see Scar gazing at him with more emotion than he’d ever seen the man display. It was pity – or something close to it – stamped into his craggy features, and Edward’s gut coiled warningly in response.

“Your Flame Alchemist, Fullmetal.”

He jerked his silver head to the left, and Edward followed the motion with trepidation. There he was, standing in the middle of the fire-blackened corridor, his silken ebony hair fluttering in the breeze that his own alchemy had created. He was still wearing _that_ expression, the one which had disturbed Edward from the very beginning. It had been enough to send him scrambling back here to save the man he loved from himself, and it was enough to keep him rooted to the spot now that he’d finally reached him.

Roy had one boot pressed threateningly on what was left of Envy, and even as Edward watched he began to press down, intent on destroying the diminutive lizard-like creature that was Envy’s true form. The homunculus was begging for his life, but there was no mercy in Roy’s eyes, and very little humanity. Edward knew that he stood on the cusp of a very unstable precipice, and all it would take was one tiny push, and it would be all over. 

A movement behind Mustang caught Edward’s attention, a flash of fair hair and russet eyes, and he realized that Hawkeye had beaten him here. She lay sprawled on the ground just beyond him, blood pouring from a gash in her left shoulder, her eyes wide as she just _stared_ at Mustang. There was something close to horror in those expressive eyes, and that was when Edward realized that not even she, who’d been closer to Mustang than anyone else before him, had ever seen _this_ side of him before. 

It was a personal epiphany. Edward had always assumed – jealously – that she and Mustang were lovers. Hell, _everyone_ had, especially since Roy’s response when asked was always a very ambiguous, “I refuse to dignify such a base rumor with a response,”. Edward had always taken it as an evasion, one that had caused alot of problems between them. Roy had accused him of not trusting him, and in return, Edward had accused him of being a duplicitous bastard. 

But now, he finally saw the truth, and he was ashamed. Riza Hawkeye had never been intimate with Roy Mustang. She’d hadn’t held him in the dead of night, when the atrocities he’d committed in the name of his government left him steeped in guilt and covered in imaginary blood. She didn’t know the shame that Roy held deep in his heart, she’d never seen the _despair_ that had made this rage possible. She cared about Mustang – probably even loved him – but she sure as hell didn’t know him if she hadn’t been expecting _something_ like this.

“So, this is your true form, then.” Those deep onyx eyes with their catlike tilt at the corners narrowed ever so slightly on Envy, and his smooth voice trembled with the force of his fury. “You’re. . . _ugly."_

Edward flinched at that. Mustang, ever the master manipulator, playing on what was probably the only insecurity that the shape-shifting homunculus had. Envy wore the human forms the way Mustang wore his uniform, with pride and unmatched arrogance. Edward had never really given it much thought, but he could see that Mustang had, and that he was using his whip-like intelligence to fuck with his victim’s head. 

He absolutely _hated_ thinking of Envy as a victim – especially after all the shit he’d pulled – but Roy had reduced the homunculus to a quivering, sniveling mound of unnatural green flesh. Truly pitiful sounds escaped the defeated monster, muffled sobs and terrified whimpers. He was well and truly afraid of what he’d set free, Edward couldn’t blame him for his fear. Roy was so close to the edge that even _he_ could feel it, and after the destruction of his human form, Edward didn’t doubt that Envy could too.

But Edward knew something that Envy didn’t, something that even Lieutenant Hawkeye hadn’t quite figured out yet. Roy Mustang wasn’t a killer. No matter what they – or even Roy himself - believed, the hate-filled man standing before them was not who Mustang really was. If it were, he would’ve destroyed himself long before this.

But it was all Edward could do to keep his mouth shut as Mustang continued to taunt the defeated homunculus. He wanted to rush out there and yank the homunculus away from the older man, to smack Mustang upside his attractive head and demand to know what he thought he was doing. But like he’d told Scar, he trusted Roy. He trusted his bastard Colonel more than he ever had anyone else – except, maybe, for Al – and he refused to let himself doubt him. Roy wouldn’t let himself become a monster. He would pull himself back from the edge, and he’d do it without help from _anyone._

“Envy means jealousy.” Mustang paused – ever the showman, creepy though the show was – and it almost seemed like he was _enjoying_ Envy’s pathetic display. “That’s what your name means, right?” 

He pressed his foot down just a little harder, and Edward winced at the high-pitched squeal of fear that rent the smoky air. _"I_ get it.”

The deep, beautiful silk of Roy’s voice was little more than a bestial growl, roughened by hate and resonating with the grief that had been eating at him since Hughes’ death, and Edward felt the first traitorous kernel of doubt bloom in his heart. He silently urged the man to snap out of it, to come back to himself before it went too far. If he was wrong about Mustang, it would fall to _him_ to stop him. If he had to fight the man he loved because he couldn’t bring himself back from the brink of oblivion. . .

Edward swallowed hard and stepped forward, intent on stopping this travesty of justice before Mustang had a chance to fail, when he the pressure on his left shoulder increase. He craned his head up and to the left, blinking with surprise. He hadn’t realized that Scar was still touching him, so immersed was he in his fear for Roy. The other man’s hand tightened, he knew that Scar was doing much more than attempting to offer comfort. He was _restraining_ him. 

“Let me go. I have to stop him.” His voice was raw with emotion, his frantic golden gaze returning to his lover as he began to strain against Scar’s hold. “Damn it, Scar, he’s losing himself!”

Scar only shook his silver head negatively, his eyes never leaving the ghastly scene before them. Envy, begging for his life, and Roy Mustang, determined to take it. “It is too late, my friend. He will either give in to the beast, or rise above its need for revenge. Only he can make that decision, now.”

“Please, don’t. . .” Envy’s voice was little more than a feeble wobble in the ghastly silence. “No, don’t!”

A graceful hand, clad in obscenely pristine white cloth, was splayed menacingly before the defeated homunculus, and Edward felt a jolt of pure terror. Roy wasn’t going to come back to himself. He wasn’t going to stop. He was going to kill Envy, and murder his soul in the process! 

“And jealousy is an _ugly_ thing.”

“Noooo!” Envy began to struggle in earnest, screaming and wailing as he thrashed beneath the rubber sole of Roy’s boot. “I don’t wanna die!”

Mustang lifted his hand with agonizing slowness, the ignition cloth of his gloves rasping and sparking as he rubbed his thumb and forefingers together. His intention was all too clear, and Edward had only one thought: to get to Roy before he went through with this fucking madness. 

“I’m not giving you a choice!” Mustang was beautiful in his rage, both stunningly breathtaking and deceptively righteous in his wrath, and Edward’s breath caught in involuntary appreciation. “NOW BURN IN HELL!”

The unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered stopped Edward dead in his tracks. It echoed as loudly as a gunshot through the narrow space, and he saw that Hawkeye had _finally_ come to her senses. She had her revolver trained on the Mustang’s head, her expression one of grim determination, and Edward slumped against Scar in his relief. Hawkeye had always been Mustang’s conscience. If there was anyone he would listen to right now, it would be her. 

Deep pools of endless black slid to Mustang’s left, locking on the woman who’d served him for years than Edward had been alive. They were the only part of his body to move, and Edward had to admit that it was a fucking creepy effect. “And what do you think _you're_ doing?”

Hawkeye’s own eyes narrowed at the menace in his own. “That’s enough, Colonel,” she told him in a stern, no-nonsense voice. “I’ll deal with him from here.”

Mustang’s gaze left hers, focusing on Envy once more. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he spoke. “He’s as good as finished,” he forced through clenched teeth. “Lower your weapon.”

She lifted her chin bravely. “I can’t obey that order. Put your hand down!”

The faintest of movements was all it to took, and blue lightning sparked along the length of his hand. “Damn it!” he yelled impotently, incensed by her interference. “I won’t ask again!”

He curled his hand, the muscles in his arm and shoulders bunching in preparation to strike. Alchemic energy danced around the white glove with its red-stitched array, power literally crawling over his trembling form, bathing his entire body in blue-tinged light, and then he _snapped._

Edward knew then that Scar had been right. It was too late. They had lost him – _he_ had lost him.

It was his last conscious thought before instinct took over. He elbowed Scar in the stomach, shoved him away, and slapped his hands together in the same motion. The resulting clap was sharp as it reverberated through the tunnel, and before it faded he was crouched on the ground, his hands pressed to the blackened stone as his own alchemy surged to life. He directed the energy along the length of the tunnel floor, brilliant streaks of cerulean light racing along the ground towards Mustang and his captive. Flat-edged chunks of weathered stone to grew out of the tunnel floor, row after row overlapping each other like dominoes falling in reverse. 

Edward’s only thought was to rescue Envy from the sphere of fire that was consuming him, to get the homunculus away from Mustang before he died. He didn’t care if Envy survived the Promised Day or not, he just didn’t want Roy to be the one to murder him. Because that’s just what it would be. Not justice for Brigadier-General Hughes, not vengeance for a fallen friend, but murder plain and simple, and Roy was _better_ than that.

But instead of Edward's alchemy dislodging Mustang’s foot and launching the homunculus into his waiting hands as planned, Mustang himself did something that turned the tables and caused his entire plan to go up in smoke. 

Time itself seemed to grind to a halt as Mustang slowly, deliberately, turned to face him. He looked straight at Edward, rage and pain and _betrayal_ distorting his handsome, maddened features, and – oh God, Edward had never been so terrified in his life! Then his infuriated expression changed, cruel lines and sharp plains blending into something softer, more intimate. He extended his arm, his white-clad fingers curling slightly before splaying wide, a loving invitation that sent relief careening through Edward’s entire being.

 _He hadn't lost him!_

The knot of terror in his chest unraveled as Edward shifted to his knees, his own lips curving into tremulous smile as reaching out to take his hand. Roy murmured his title, “Fullmetal,” just like he always did, the smooth silk of his voice sweeping over Edward like a physical caress, a darkly sensual sound reminiscent of darkened bedrooms and rustling sheets and unrelenting physical pleasure. Edward shivered as the tips of his gloved fingertips met Roy’s, gliding almost teasing over the other man’s, his trust fueled by his love for the man who had shaped so much of his young life.

And then Mustang began to laugh. Insanity tinged the rich, wholly beloved sound, warping into something dark and twisted and malevolent. Edward recoiled, snatching his hand away and scooting backwards, but it was too late. A thunderclap rent the smoky air, sparks flying from between gloved fingertips, and the world began to _burn._

Time snapped back into motion as a ball of alchemic flame shot towards him. In desperation, Edward reacted, hastily clapping his hands and slamming them to the broken ground. Even as he watched his own energy rush towards Mustang’s, he wondered if it would be enough. Would his alchemy be strong enough to overpower Roy’s, or would they all be destroyed in the alchemical backlash?

He heard Envy scream, the loud rattling sound tolling the homunculus’ death knell. It was echoed by Edward as his power met Mustang’s and _rebounded._ He was thrown to the ground, his entire body seizing as his muscles spasmed, his every sense overloaded as he was engulfed in his own alchemical storm. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. All the oxygen had been sucked out of the air, greedily devoured by two very different kinds of alchemy. 

Dimly, he heard another snap, but he was beyond caring. His world had been reduced to shades of _pain,_ and it was all he could do keep himself conscious. He knew that in a few moments, it wouldn’t matter. He would be dead, and all that would remain was the monster that Roy had made of himself. 

He was almost glad he wouldn’t live to see it. 

A body appeared above him, large and heavily-muscled, its tattooed arms reaching for him as it blocked out the light. Edward licked his lips and tried to speak, his entire body jerking as it fought to draw the breath necessary for speech, but it was so hot and there was _no air._ He managed to lift his arms, his hands latching onto the other’s shoulders – damn it, he should _know_ who those tattoos belonged to! – and clung to them with all of his waning strength.

The man above hunched closer, grasping Edward’s wrists as he wrenched his hands away, shoving them back down to the scorched ground. His hair had been completely burned away, and Edward watched with horror as flames licked greedily at his tanned, scarred face. “From one brother to another,” the man rasped as his arms began to blow with unearthly light, “take his gift and use it well, Edward Elric.”

The light grew stronger in brilliance, glowing so brightly that it eclipsed the sight of the man who was burning alive above him. Edward squeezed his eyes closed as agony suffused his body, his arms burning with a different kind of fire, and then –mercifully – the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I apologize before hand for the italics, but it's simply how I write otherworldly scenes, flashbacks, etc.. Still no beta, so bear with me. Any mistakes are my own, and will be corrected as noticed. And, a special thanks to those who have left reviews. The feedback helps tremendously with the writing process, and it's nice to know that the character's "voices" are coming across to you as they do to me. Again, THANK YOU. Now, on with the show.!

Chapter 2

_It was always the same. Tiny hands, pitch-black and ice-cold, tearing at hair, cloth, and flesh. Agony as his body was deconstructed, reduced to its basest elements, only to be reconstructed in the same excruciating fashion. His mind, inundated with information, all the knowledge of universe shoved **en infinitum** into its fragile human psyche. The endless expanse of light, a white so pure and true that it stabbed at the soul and threatened to rend it asunder. _

_And then, The Gate._

_He could **feel** it as it rose up behind him, the doorway that led back to the world of man. He knew without looking that it was an impressive, imposing sight. Beautifully crafted symbols would be carved into its massive façade, each alchemic sigil a silent allegory of the life he had lived. He also knew that the doors were closed, and that they would remain that way until Truth came to receive its toll._

_Edward didn’t doubt that Roy – no, not Roy, but the monster Roy had become – had done this. For reasons he might never know, the man he loved had attempted human transmutation, and he had used **Edward** as fodder for the forbidden ritual. _

_Pain lashed at him, not physical – nothing but Truth could hurt him here – but emotional. His heart was broken, his spirit crushed, ground to dust beneath the polished heel of Roy Mustang’s boot. All of his dreams for the future were gone – all but **one -** and he feared that even that would soon be beyond his reach. _

_It didn’t matter, Edward told himself dully. Whether he lived or died now, it no longer mattered. He hadn’t been fast enough – good enough – to stop his maddened lover, and by the time Truth was done with him, he’d be in no shape to help the others stop the Promised Day. His brother would never get his body back, Roy would never become Fuhrer, and the country that they all loved would fall._

_He had **failed.**_

_“I didn’t expect to see **you** again so soon,” a voice sounded at his back, neither male nor female, yet inexplicably both, “Edward Elric.”_

_Edward closed his eyes for a long moment, an image of Roy as he **used** to be playing behind his closed lids. The playful smirk that had **always** pissed him off, the beautiful onyx eyes that had once smiled into his own, the smooth timbre of his voice as he spoke of love and forever. . ._

_No more illusions, he told himself harshly. His Roy was gone, and **he** was about to die. There was nothing he could do to save either of them. All that he **could** do was turn around, face his mistakes, and let himself be judged._

_So fucking be it._

_He opened his eyes and slowly turned around, his eyes going wide as he stared not at Truth, but at the prone body of his little brother. “ALPHONSE!”_

_The whiteness swallowed his scream as he rushed forward, falling to his knees before a Gate that was not his own. His brother’s body lied motionless before it, thin and emaciated by four years trapped in this nothingness. A long, wild mane of honey-blond hair hung over his face like a thick golden curtain, hiding the features of the only person who had ever believed in him, and he felt something in his chest wither and die._

_“No, no, no, no, no,” he chanted desperately, reaching out with a trembling hand to sweep that heavy golden fall aside. Alphonse’s eyes were open, blank pools of dull gold as they gazed not at him, but at something **beyond** him, and he was terrified that he was too late. “Wake up, Al. Al – Alphonse, please, **please,** wake up! Alphonse! Don’t do this to me, Al! Please, DON’T BE DEAD!”_

_He didn’t know how long he sat there – minutes, hours, years – clinging to the only family he had left, begging his little brother **not to leave him.** He rocked back and forth, his face buried in his brother’s hair, his mind fracturing with each unwanted breath. For four long years, he’d searched for an answer, for a way to restore Al to the body that **his** stupidity had robbed him of, to give him back his **life.** And now **his** love for the wrong man had taken that life away. _

_“I’m sorry, Al,” he whispered brokenly, inconsolable in the face of his own perfidy. “I never meant to do this to you, not to **you.** Please, Al, forgive me. I didn’t mean to love him more than you.”_

_“Don’t be stupid, Edward!” Edward jumped, startled, as the body in his arms began to stir. “You can’t blame yourself for what The Colonel is doing. He’s the one who went crazy, not you.”_

_Edward stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe what his senses were telling him. He’d finally lost it, he thought dimly. He’d gone crazy and lost his fucking mind! And yet, he could feel flesh and hair as Alphonse’s head tipped back over his arm, could see **life** as his large honeyed eyes scrunched at the corners and his chapped lips curved into a smile. _

_No fucking way! Ed thought with the first stirrings of panic. Dead was dead. You couldn’t cheat it, and you sure as hell couldn’t reverse it! He knew **that** better than anyone. So how the fuck was it that his dead brother was sitting here **talking** to him?! _

_“You know I’m not really here, Ed,” the other – boy, man, thing? – scolded him gently. “My soul’s still there,” he lifted a hand and pointed at the unfamiliar Gate, “waiting for **you.** Don’t make me wait too long, brother. It’s only going to make it harder to find me another.”_

_“But, I don’t understand. Another **what,** Al?” His little brother began to laugh, a lilting, **happy** sound that he hadn’t heard since childhood, and Edward began to tremble, afraid in a way that he had never been before. “You told me before that you couldn’t come with me, that only your soul could guide your body from The Gate. If your body is dead, how the fuck are you supposed to do that?”_

_“It’s too late for this body, Edward.” Alphonse’s voice shifted, pitching both higher and lower, amalgamating into that eerie sexless voice he’d heard before. “It has already been forced to the end of its span.”_

_Alphonse’s image shifted, the color leeching from his already pale skin, his hair disintegrating in a slow crawl of jet-lined white, and he **knew.** “You piece of shit!” he screamed furiously, gloved hands clenching around too-thin shoulders as he shoved the monstrosity away. “Who the fuck do you think you are? That’s MY BROTHER you just killed!”_

_He lunged at the boy-shaped silhouette before him, roaring with rage as it dissipated before his very eyes. “Are you truly so foolish as to believe that you are the only alchemist eager to seek Truth this day?”_

_Those damning words seemed to come from all around him, bombarding him with a truth he didn’t know if he could face. “No!” He staggered back, stunned by what those disembodied words, and the betrayal that they implied. “Oh God, no! He wouldn’t do that to me! He-he couldn’t!”_

_“That body is beyond saving, **Fullmetal,"** The voice sounded again behind him, and he whirled frantically to face it, even as his worse fears were confirmed with that one hated word. “ You must find another path if you wish to save your brother’s soul.”_

_Truth’s featureless face blurring as his eyes filled with tears. He reached up and wiped them away with an impatient hand, but they kept coming, spilling down his face in an uncontrollable steam. Mustang hadn’t just tried to kill him, he’d killed **Alphonse** too!_

_“How could you let him do that?!” he screamed, his voice breaking as grief vied with fury for possession of his heart. “He was **my** brother! The toll was mine to pay, not Mustang’s!”_

_“And yet, pay it he did,” came the agonizing response, “though in a way that was. . .unexpected.”_

_Edward dropped to his knees, sobbing so hard that he could barely draw breath. “Alphonse,” he groaned miserably, completely overwhelmed by grief. He’d sworn that he would get his brother’s body back. He’d **promised.** The blood seal that bound Al’s soul to his armor was already weakening. If he couldn’t deliver, if he couldn’t fix the mistake he had made so many years ago, his little brother’s soul would **die,** and he would have **nothing** left to live for._

_No, this couldn’t be the end, Edward thought, ignoring the desperation that danced along the edge of his consciousness. There had to be something he could do, some other way he could keep Al with him. It was there, it had to be, he just had to fucking figure it out!_

_Truth had mentioned something about finding another path, but for all his vaunted genius, he could think of nothing that would bring Al’s physical body back from **death.** “It’s not possible,” he muttered, his voice was little more than a strained rasp as he finally lifted his head. “I’ve read all the books, I’ve done all the research. You think I don’t know that human transmutation is impossible? **You** taught me that lesson well enough,” he added bitterly. _

_That rounded head tilted to one side. “Strong are the ties that bind, alchemist.”_

_“Ties that bind?” Edward spat as he took an aggressive step forward. “What the **fuck** is that supposed to mean. . .?”_

_His voice trailed off as his eyes widened with comprehension. The binding array, he thought excitedly, the one he’d used to bind Al’s soul to Hohenheim’s ancient suit of armor. If he could find the right vessel, he could save Al by binding his soul to it. It wasn’t perfect, and there was always a chance that whatever container he chose would reject the foreign soul, but – maybe – it would by him some time._

_Edward watched as a mouth appeared on the personification of Truth, a large set of teeth bared in what could only be described as a shit-eating grin, and scowled darkly. “Send me back!” he demanded, pointing one white-gloved finger threateningly at the bane of his existence. “Send me back so I can save my little brother!”_

_The smile widened impossibly, stretching across its head until it threatened to completely engulf it. An arm appeared first, then a leg, splashes of vivid gold set against an impossibly monochromatic backdrop, and Edward shook his tawny head negatively._

_“You can fucking keep them,” he said flatly, and he meant it. So long as he had Alphonse, he didn’t need anything else. “Take whatever else you want from me too, just leave me enough to save my brother.”_

_“That was the right choice,” the arm changed, golden flesh melding with streaks of gunmetal gray, and Edward flinched at what it signified, “Edward.”_

_Truth, and The Gate he guarded, began to waver, stretching and warping as the transmutation ended, and Edward let his eyes fall shut. He felt the pain of countless needle-like hands, sinking into his body and soul as was he dragged backwards through The Gate, but he didn’t fight it. He didn’t know what he would find back in the world of the living, but so long as he had his brother, he didn’t really care. As long as he and Al were together, he would never ask for anything else, for as long as he fucking lived._

Edward opened his eyes to a world painted in shades of death. The walls were splattered in its crimson brilliance, the floor on which he laid drenched with it. He could see a body from where he lay, burnt almost beyond recognition. It lied on its stomach, face turned towards him, one arm stretched towards _him,_ the other folded awkwardly beneath it. The eyes were gone, the sockets little more than blackened hollows, the jaw opened wide in a soundless scream. 

He choked back a scream of his own as his gaze fell to the charred remnants of the corpse’s back. Right there, right above where the torso curved into waist, on the only patch of unblemished flesh left on Hawkeye’s body, was the only identifying mark he would ever need. Roy had told him about the tattoo once, about how his mentor had inked the secrets of his craft onto his daughter’s back in an attempt to keep the dangerous alchemy from falling into the wrong hands. 

Edward remembered being horrified by the story. _“What kind of monster would do that to his own daughter?”_ he had demanded with outrage, his mind conjuring up images of Nina Tucker against his will. Roy had just shrugged, a faraway look in his dark eyes that suggested he was seeing something else altogether. Then, his gaze had sharpened and he’d taken Edward’s flesh hand and guided his fingertips over the back of his own right hand. 

Edward choked back a sob as he remembered it, the sensation of flowing script, to minute to be seen with the naked eye, beneath his fingertips. It had been coupled with the realization that Roy Mustang carried an even greater burden he ever could have imagined. Written an arcane language very few could comprehend, let alone translate, the ancient words spelled out the full secrets of one of the oldest forms of alchemy known to man. Roy explained that he had added them to the simplified flame array carved into his hand after the fight with the homunculus Lust, his intention to prevent himself from ever being laid so low again. He and Havoc had nearly died that day, and the aftermath had shaken Roy more than anyone had known.

 _“Do you see now,”_ he’d asked in the soft, loving voice reserved only for him, _"why he was so determined to keep his work from ever falling into the military’s hands?”_

Yes, he had, Edward thought as the salamander on Hawkeye’s back blurred further and further out of focus. He’d felt the power in that inactive sigil, the potential for destruction that had caused an old man to maim his only child in an attempt to protect the world from its power, and he had _understood._

Or believed that he had, Edward thought as grief threatened to choke him. He blinked as his eyes stung and burned, rolling onto his back to block out the sight of his dead friend. He ignored the wet, sticky liquid that clung to his hair and clothes, lifting a hand to dash away the moisture on his cheeks. He froze, his lips parting on a choked cry pain as fresh agony surged through him. His arms were on fire, a deep, searing pain that he felt all the way to the bone, and he wondered if Roy – no, not Roy, _Mustang -_ had somehow used his alchemy to burn him from the _inside out._

He clenched his teeth and pushed through the pain, half-rolling onto his side as he worked to get his throbbing arms under him. He pushed himself upright, his jaw locking as his traitorous limbs threatened to buckle beneath him. He swore and fought and struggled until he was sitting upright, his chest heaving as that little bit of exertion almost proved too much for him. He blinked sweat and blood and tears out of his eyes, feeling his heart sink as he got his first good look at his surroundings.

The blood was _everywhere._ It was smeared across the rounded walls, dripping from the pipes that ran up into the darkened ceiling, covering the cold cement ground beneath him in a fine scarlet glaze. . .the unfamiliar room was literally drenched in congealed blood. Even worse were the bodies strewn haphazardly throughout the area, some showing signs of the flame alchemy that was Mustang’s trademark, others bearing long slashes that looked like sword or knife wounds. The one thing they all had in common was their presence inside of a giant alchemic array – an array which _Edward_ sat at the heart of. 

A human transmutation circle.

Wrought of white chalk and thick black ash, its circumference spanned the entire width of the circular room, and told a story too horrible to be fathomed. Mustang had done this, had committed the ultimate taboo, and he had sacrificed innocent _human beings_ to do it. 

“You utter fucking bastard!” Edward shouted, slamming his hands down into the ground on either side of him. Blood flew up to splatter his face and hair, and he bit back a sob as he fought the urge to break down and just fucking cry. “How could you do this to them, Roy? How could you do to this to _her?_ She fucking _loved_ you!”

His voice dropped to a low, tortured whisper as he added, _"I_ fucking loved you, you treacherous piece of shit!”

Mustang was nowhere to been seen, of course. He’d killed all these fucking people and left him alone to deal with the aftermath. “I will kill you for this, Mustang!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!!”

He lifted his shaking hands, glaring at the blood coating them, at the macabre proof his lover’s betrayal. His once-white gloves were soaked clear through, the thin fabric heavy with moisture, dripping blood onto his thighs even as he watched, but that wasn’t what caused his heart skip a beat and redouble savagely. It was the sensation of cold, tacky, _wet_ blood that made his eyes widen and his lips part on a gasp. He could _feel_ the sanguine liquid that made his glove cling to his hand, could discern its thick, cloying texture by touch alone, something that he _shouldn’t be able to do._

Trepidation battled with hope as he slowly clenched his right hand into a fist. A part of him refused to believe it, unable to accept that he could’ve been _rewarded_ for his spectacular failure. Truth didn’t give, it took, usually more than you could afford to give. And yet, he couldn’t deny what he felt, and he was left to wonder exactly what he had lost in exchange for this “gift”.

The shaking increased, becoming violent shudders that wracked his entire body, as Edward slowly – hesitantly – grasped the hem of his glove. He was terrified to take it off, to find out that this was all an illusion and that he was still a stupid fucking cripple. But he was even more afraid to discover that he was _right._

Al, he reminded himself with determination. He had to get to Al and make sure his little brother was safe until he found another vessel to bind him to. He couldn’t afford to sit here on ass and let his fears get the better of him. He wasn’t living for himself anymore. He would never again make the mistake of reaching for more than he deserved. From this moment on, it would all be for Alphonse.

His lips flattened into a determined line as he grasped the bottom of his right glove in his left hand. It clung stubbornly to his – automail, skin? – to his hand, and he yanked with all of his might. It came flying off, slipping from his grasp to disappear somewhere in the darkened gloom, but he didn’t notice, too caught up in the wonder of flesh and blood and bone.

Thinner streaks of crimson stained his golden skin, and Edward couldn’t help but trace one with a quivering fingertip. His remaining glove left a fresh smear of scarlet across the back of his hand, and he stripped it off impatiently, dropping it to the ground beside him. He ran his left hand over his right, marveling at the play of muscles beneath his skin, tenderly tracing tendons and the delicate contours of human bone. It was a fucking _wonderful_ feeling.

He closed his hand in a fist, closing his eyes as pain lashed through the entire length of his arm. An answering throb came from his left, and his golden brows pulled in a frown. He could understand why his right arm hurt – fuck, he’d be shocked if it didn’t – but his left arm should _not_ be aching like this. 

He studied his left hand closely, but could find nothing wrong. There were no signs of fire damage, no telltale reddening of the skin, no melted sections of flesh, so why the fuck did it hurt so damned much?

Edward shoved the sleeve of his jacket up over his forearm – _a shadow bent over him, skin blistering and peeling away to reveal muscle, bone and sinew, “From one brother to another, take his gift and use it well, Edward Elric,”_ – and let out a scream of pure anguish. 

_Reconstruction._

It echoed and rebounded, ringing loudly in his ears, winding itself through his very soul, just like the tattoo now seared into his flesh. Dense white lines, sweeping ebony curves, the Grand Arcane come to life on _his_ unworthy flesh. Was this really all that Scar’s life had been worth, an endless circle of blood and death, a sacrifice for an ally undeserving of him? 

He frantically dragged his right sleeve back and found what he’d been dreading, the first half of the ancient array, the section that had made the deaths of fourteen State Alchemists possible. “Comprehension and deconstruction,” he whispered thickly, tears flowing freely down his face as he hung his head. 

_Why did you do it?_ he begged the dead man silently, sobbing as he buried his face in his hands. _Why did you sacrifice yourself for an arrogant, ignorant brat like me?!_

There were no answers to comfort him, no uncomfortable silences to vex him, no weirdly poetic philosophical bullshit to confound him. There was nothing of Scar, the brother, the murder, or the proud Ishvalan, just like there was nothing left of Lieutenant Hawkeye. Scar may have made the decision to save his life, and Riza had clearly been ready to sacrifice herself to save Roy, but it was he and Mustang who were responsible for all of this. _They_ had killed them both, and it fell to Edward to make sure that their sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. It didn’t cleanse the blood that stained his hands – he had a feeling that nothing fucking could – but at least he could _avenge_ them.

He knew it was a slippery slope, the path of vengeance, but it was one that he would – that he _could -_ tread, if only for the sake of those who still lived. He wasn’t like Roy. He would never sacrifice his soul for the sake of revenge. But his allies were still down here somewhere, fighting to save Amestris from Father and his monster children, and they couldn’t do it alone. Once that was done, and the country was spared, it would be just he and Al again, and _then_ he could dedicate the rest of his life to making things right.

He swiped at his damp cheeks and forcing himself to stand on his own two feet. He wasn’t a child in need of comfort anymore – Mustang and his own naiveté had seen to that – and it was a lesson he would _never_ forget. He was a grown fucking man, and it was past time he started acting like one. 

Edward stripped off his ruined jacket, the deep red shade one he would never wear again, and stumbled over to Lieutenant Hawkeye. He draped it over as gently as he could, bowing his head in a gesture of respect. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he told her quietly, his guilt almost more than he could bear. “I know you loved him, but I have to stop him now. I hope you understand.”

There was no response, but then, he wasn’t expecting one. He just hoped that wherever her soul had gone, in whatever after life she’d believed in, she could forgive him for what he was about to do, because he sure as hell would never forgive himself.

Edward turned away, intent on hunting Mustang down so he could _end_ this, when a faint glimmer caught his eye. He dropped into a defensive crouch, his golden eyes darting nervously through the darkened chamber, when he saw it again. There, in the very center of the room, at the heart of the transmutation array, an azure-tinged light shined luminously beneath the spill of rapidly drying blood. 

He frowned and cautiously made his way towards it, kneeling before the spot where he had awakened such a short time ago. The glow deepened even as he watched, creating an eerie effect as the blood seemed ripple over it. He shook his fair head and reached down, grimacing as he used his bare hands to scoop the sanguine liquid out of his way, and his breath caught as he saw what he’d uncovered.

It was another transmutation circle, simple yet elegantly drawn, an array within an array. Why would Mustang need two human transmutation circles? Edward asked himself with surprise. Just one would have been sufficient for resurrection, had bringing back the dead actually been possible, so again. . .why?

Edward glanced back at where Hawkeye laid, a vague shape under a blood-red shroud, and thought that maybe he knew. He’d like to think that, somewhere in the depths of Mustang’s rotten soul, there was some tiny piece of the man he’d once been, enough to have at least _attempted_ to make things right. Unfortunately, not even _he_ was naïve enough to believe something like that anymore. Roy was gone – for good – and it was something he was going to have to learn to life with. 

He sighed tiredly and forced himself to his feet, following the blood trail out of the room. He spied four sets of footprints, each a difference size, marring the blood-swathed path before him. The tread patterns of the first three were unmistakable, the design created specifically for the Amestrian Military. The fourth he didn’t recognize, but he didn’t doubt that one of those sets of prints belonged to Mustang. Edward would bet his pocket watch on it. He just hoped that he found him in time to keep him from killing anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that the end is a tad bit abrupt, but the original chapter was nearing 50 pages and just HAD to be halved. I hope you enjoyed it, anyway :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This is the next 20 pages or so of what was originally Chapter 2. Once we get to chapter 4, you'll see why I had to section it the way that I did. It was just too damned long, lol.
> 
> I wanted to thank those who have left reviews. I'm fond of saying that reviews are an important part of the creative process, and the constructive feedback DOES help. So, THANK YOU.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful xxTigerAvatarxx, who is doing her best to work The Fires Within into her busy schedule. Any mistakes from here on out are all mine. Now, on with the show!

Chapter Three

 

Edward made his way through the winding, twisting labyrinthine turns that comprised the underground warren. There was a nagging ache in his left leg, the automail clattering in a way that told him it had been damaged. He knew that he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been traveling and fighting almost nonstop for weeks now, and it was due to have had _some_ effect on his prosthetics. He didn’t know if the problem was in the make-up of the cold-climate automail that Winry had replaced the original with, or if it was just the result of all the strain he’d been putting on it. He just hoped that it wouldn’t fail at a crucial moment. He’d need every bit of strength he possessed, every dirty trick he’d ever fucking learned, to beat Roy Mustang.

 

The sounds of battle drifted down the hallway towards him, and he quickened his mismatched stride. The sense of malevolence—Mei’s all-important _chi—_ grew stronger with every uneven step that he took, and the air was thick with the distinctive tang of alchemy. He couldn’t deny the fear that trilled through him as he drew ever closer, knowing that he would soon be face-to-face with a twisted vision of the man he loved. This would the hardest thing he had ever done, but do it he would, if it meant saving those who’d put their trust in him. He wouldn’t let anyone else down.

 

He found more bodies in the corridor, just outside of Father’s den. Zampano and Jerso had fought to the last, as was evident by the multitude of burn wounds covering the chimeras’ motionless bodies, but it was _Scar_ who had suffered the most. The Ishvalan man lay slumped at the foot of the massive doors, little more than a charred mass of burnt flesh and seared bone. His only identifying marks were the lighter section of skin where his scar had once been, and his two missing arms. He didn’t know how Scar had survived long enough to make it this far, but it didn’t really matter. He was dead, and nothing could bring him back.

 

Edward fought a fresh spring of tears, Scar’s last gifts to him curling into fists at his sides. He wished he knew enough about Ishvalan religion to say a prayer, or something properly profound and obscure for the fallen man, but he sucked when it came to pretty words, and his faith didn’t extend any farther than his alchemy. Much as he had with Hawkeye, all he could do was promise to avenge him by killing his murderer, and hope it would be enough.

 

It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he did it. He forced himself to step _over_ the body of the fallen man, to push his grief aside as he faced the imposing metal doors that marked the entrance of the Homunculi lair. He drew a deep breath and placed both hands flat on the either door, feeling the vibrations of the battle through his naked palms. He closed his eyes and cocked his head, listening to the unmistakable snap of Mustang’s ignition gloves, and the voices of his friends as they called out to one another. They were in trouble, fighting for their fucking lives, and _he_ was stuck out here, hesitating because he was afraid of _failing._

 

Fuck that! Edward thought angrily. He wasn’t a coward, damn it! Yeah, he was fucking scared, but considering what he was about to do, he thought—he hoped—that it was at least _understandable._ He didn’t have his prosthetic arm anymore, meaning that he wouldn’t be able to use his automail blade in this battle, and it had literally been _years_ since he’d fought without it. He also had a new form of alchemy, one that he’d never used before, to take into battle alongside his own. Sure, he’d seen it in action, but that wasn’t the same thing. What if he blew himself up with the first transmutation? What if he blew _someone else_ up?

 

Edward stared hard at his right arm, studying the complex array closely. Scar had said that his brother had recreated The Grand Arcane from a combination of Xingese Alkahestry history and ancient Amestrian Alchemy texts. It was basic alchemy, just with a. . . twist. All he had to do was figure out exactly how _this_ particular array worked, and then he’d be able to control it. Simple enough, right?

 

As though a veil had been lifted, images began to flow through behind his eyes, ripping through his brain at a staggering pace. _Terra_ for the earth _, Aer_ for, well, _air._ Twin snakes, entwined in the Caduceus pattern, signifying equilibrium, the scales that represented Ling’s all-important “Dragon Pulse”, the downward arrows which signified outward flow. . .

 

The Gate, he thought with sudden comprehension. He had absorbed more knowledge through the Gate of Truth than anyone else alive. Every time he passed through it, he acquired a little more. Thanks to his bat-shit crazy, lying bastard of a Colonel, he’d gained all that he would ever fucking need to know about Scar’s amalgamated destructive alchemy.

 

_I’m sorry, Roy._

 

Edward drew a deep fortifying breath, pictured the array in his mind, and let the energy simply _flow._ His right arm began to glow with a familiar blue light, his blood singing in his veins as a power greater than he’d ever know surged through the length of his body. He licked his lips as it rose up inside of him, growing in intensity until he knew that he had to either release it or be consumed. 

 

He directed the power outward, imagined the pair of doors flying inwards, bursting open in a violent explosion of power, and that’s exactly what they did. Both of the massive barriers were wrenched off of their moorings as they blew apart, the explosion powerful enough to send thick chunks of jagged rock hurtling into the chamber. The debris vanished, completely enveloped in a miasma of thick black smoke and searing red-gold flame. Edward knew his eyes were wide as he ducked into the room and hurriedly edged along the wall to his right, as his mind struggled to make sense out of the bedlam before him. 

 

It was utter and complete chaos, and _Mustang_ was at the heart of it. He stood in the center of the cavernous room, his clothes and hair billowing back from his body, his arms swinging with every deafening snap of his gloved fingers. The First Homunculus and Von Hohenheim, once the bitterest of enemies, now stood side by side, fighting _together_ as they faced a common foe. Their alchemy flared in brilliant shades of scarlet and crimson around them, sending zigzagging waves of pure actinic energy hurling through the cavernous chamber. It was an impressive sight, or would have been, if Mustang weren’t nullifying their alchemy before it could even touch him.

 

He’d never known that fire could burn so _hot,_ Edward thought with amazement. One minute shaded red and gold, the next burning with white-tinged azure heat. Mustang’s flames absorbed everything the two men threw at him, even as the next snap sent another ravenous blaze speeding towards them. It was a beautiful, lethal display, and Edward gained a whole new appreciation for the arcane art of Flame Alchemy. 

 

It was almost tragic that he was about to kill its only remaining master.

 

He saw Greed—or was it Ling?—jumping and dodging on the west side of the room. His hair, pulled back into its customary ponytail, steamed out behind him like an ebony ribbon. Fuhrer Bradley, the homunculus Wrath, sped after him, bearing down on him with his rapier drawn. The sword flashed silver as it cut through smoke, ash and flame alike, its blade already stained red with blood. A deep voice boomed out, a boisterous laugh of sheer exhilaration, and Edward rolled his eyes as his question was answered. That was _definitely_ Greed. No one enjoyed a good ass-kicking quite as much the rogue homunculus. 

 

“Come on, Wrath!” Greed taunted the other homunculus, his expression reflecting the delight in his voice as he sliced a quartet of wounds across Bradley’s chest. “Can’t you take down a _superior_ homunculus? Or do your skills only work on half-breed chimerae?”

 

Bradley’s craggy, aged face never changed from its arrogantly determined lines, although disgust blazed from his single green eye as he landed on the ground a few feet away from his “older brother”. “Greed, you talk too much,” he spat, his normally jovial voice heavy with disdain as he launched himself back into the fray.

 

Edward saw that he was bleeding from a wound in his stomach, and that his left eye was dripping blood too, and hoped like hell that it fucking _hurt._ After everything he’d done to screw up their country, it was the very least he deserved. A part of Edward was curious enough to wonder what had happened to that eye, the one with the Ouroboros tattoo, the “Ultimate Eye” that allowed the human-based homunculus to predict his enemy’s movements, but he didn’t really give a fuck. He just wanted Greed to kill the two-faced son of a bitch before he did any more damage to his friends or his nation.

 

“Take this, you worthless military dog!” 

 

And, _that_ would be Teacher, Edward thought proudly, the woman who’d taught him almost everything he knew about fighting and alchemy. The insult was immediately followed by a raucous _boom,_ one which finally forced Mustang to move from his entrenched position. The older man dove out of the way as a giant cannonball came zooming out of the smoke, tucking his body and rolling to protect himself as it crashed into the floor where he had stood only moments before. His head came up right away, his ice-black eye reflecting his fires as they narrowed furiously, his ire focusing on the deceptively slender woman with the long mane of dreadlocked hair.

 

The smoke thinned for the few moments it took for Mustang to right himself, and Edward caught a glimpse of Izumi Curtis, sitting astride a giant stone cannon. She grinned maniacally as she alchemically shifted the cannon, changing its position as she fired another shot. Mustang didn’t even try to evade the strike this time. He merely smiled, a cold, predatory gesture that sent chills down Edward’s spine, and _changed._

 

Almost faster than the eye could see, darkness flowed from his body. Creeping threads of pitch-black night swirled around him, absorbing the light even as it reshaped its shadows. It rose up behind him, a sinister shade without shape or substance, and Edward felt his terror return anew. Large eyes grew out of the darkness, vivid violet iris’ with thin slashes of catlike jet streaking their unnatural centers, their exaggerated, almost caricaturistic slant emphasized as they narrowed on Izumi with deadly intent.

 

The cannonball disappeared into the rippling raven mass, sucked into it with barely a ripple. A myriad of obsidian spears shot out of the darkness above Mustang’s head, slicing through the air with a faint whistling sound. They hurtled relentlessly towards Izumi, and she hastily changed tactics. She clapped her hands and slammed them onto the cannon, transmuting the offensive weapon into a solid wall of protective stone. Mustang’s unnatural weapons stabbed through the barrier with terrifying ease, causing the stone to crumble and plummet to the ground. Izumi looked up with a consternated expression, one which quickly changed to _pissed the fuck off_ as she slammed her palms together a second time. 

 

A single gaping mouth materialized amidst the lances of blackness, two rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth growing out of the cavernous maw. Her dark brown eyes widened as she gazed up at the phenomenon, her mouth falling open in an unguarded expression of shock, even as she brought her glowing hands up to protect herself. The mouth shattered into a million glittering piece of jet, turning to ash as they fluttered down over Izumi, and Edward couldn’t contain his own gasp of stunned surprise. 

 

What the _fuck_ had Roy done to himself?!

 

Edward’s mind flashed back to the enormous array, the human transmutation rite that he’d been an unwitting part of, and the strange black-gray ash that had covered the bloodied circle, and he knew _._ Somehow, someway, Mustang had managed to—absorb, swallow, bond with?—the homunculus Pride! Mustang was a force to be reckoned with, a powerful alchemist in his own right, but _this_ shouldn’t have been possible. He had somehow overcome one of Father’s monsters and _merged_ with it. It was un-fucking-believable!

 

But –obviously—it had happened, and unbelievable or not, Edward was done standing here with his mouth hanging open like a damned idiot. He needed to get his fucking ass into the fight and take Mustang _out._

 

Haunted golden eyes never left his maddened lover as Edward lifted his hands and slammed his palms together. Instead of the distinctive, bell-like resonation that usually came when he triggered a transmutation, he heard only the very ordinary sound of flesh striking flesh. He looked down at his hands, at the flesh-and-blood _gift_ that Scar had forced on him, and realized just what toll Truth had taken.

 

_“Take whatever else you want from me too, just leave me enough to save my brother.”_

 

“No, no, no!” he whispered with horror, spreading his fingers wide as he realized the enormity of his unthinking sacrifice. Not this. Anythingbut this! He needed his alchemy! How the _fuck_ was he supposed to fight Mustang without it? How could he protect his _Al_ if he didn’t have it?!

 

He clapped again and again, his denial shattering just a little bit more with each mockingly normal sound. Oh God, he thought, Truth had _stolen his_ _fucking alchemy!_

Edward forced himself to think passed the panic, to push passed the fear clouding his mind. If his alchemy really was gone, if Truth had taken _his_ Gate as toll for his passage, how the fuck did he explain his grand entrance here? He’d used alchemy to blow those massive fucking doors clear apart, and he hadn’t _clapped_ to do it. That meant, that while his own Gate might be gone, he still had access to Truth, just through a different medium.

 

Scar, he thought with startled comprehension. He had lost his Gate, but he’d gained _Scar’s_ in return. He could no longer do the alchemy he had spent his entire life studying, but he could use the amalgamation that Scar had bequeathed to him.

 

Relief poured through him, followed quickly by determination. He wasn’t out of this fucking fight yet! He dropped into a crouch and brought not his right arm, but his _left_ arm up before him. He concentrated on the foreign array, the one which Scar hadn’t been given the chance to use, and bared his teeth in a fierce smile as the answer came to him. 

 

He slammed his hand to the floor, the startlingly intense power he’d felt before rushing through his exhausted body. He channeled the energy as carefully as he could, his eyes narrowing on Mustang as he directed devastating torrents towards him. The ground erupted beneath the other man’s feet, large hexagonal spikes shooting out of the ground to impale him. Mustang stumbled backwards, just barely avoiding the gruesome death Edward had planned for him, much to Edward’s disappointment.

 

He cursed as frustration surged through him, and that spike of emotion was enough to shatter his concentration. The pikes exploded as Edward lost control of the unfamiliar alchemy, sending sharpened stone shrapnel flying at Mustang’s face and eyes. The other man fell flat on his ass, shielding his face with one arm, while using the other send an explosion of red-hot flames spiraling towards Edward. 

 

_Shit!_

Edward’s golden eyes went wide as he hastily scrambled backwards. He raised his hand to conjure a second transmutation, the second coming up in a futile attempt to protect his face, when a familiar voice called out to him. “Brother!” 

 

A loud thunderclap reverberated through the colossal chamber, and a large semi-circular barrier rose up out of the ground before him. Edward pressed himself back against it, scrunching up into a ball with his hands over his head, just as the fireball hit. It _whooshed_ against the back of the enclosure, flames licking ravenously at the half-formed sides as they rushed passed, leaving nothing but fire and _heat_ in their wake. 

 

Edward choked as the temperature rose around him; Mustang’s flames were drawing every bit of oxygen out of the air, making it impossible to take a decent breath. He had a vague memory of this happening before, the terrifying feeling of being suffocated as the air was sucked from his lungs. He could see Scar arching protectively over him, burning even as he used the last of his strength to ensure that _he_ survived, and he squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to banish the image.

 

The heaviness finally passed and Edward opened his eyes, licking his lips as he drew deep lungfuls of precious air. He rose shakily to his feet and yelled, “Al, are you okay?”

 

“We’re fine!” Alphonse yelled back, his words punctuated by another clap. “What about you, brother? Did he hurt you?”

 

“I’m as good as new, thanks to you!” He crept to the end of the curved wall and peeked around it, grateful to see his brother unharmed and kicking ass the way Teacher had taught him. He caught a glimpse of Mei’s ugly pink Xingese robe, and grinned his relief. “I’m gonna make my way over to you and—” 

 

“No, we need you over there! Mei has a plain!” A markedly smaller stream of fire flared through the air towards Alphonse, and he quickly turned his back to it. He wrapped his arms around Mei, protecting the young Xingese princess with his armored body, until flames dissipated. “Brother, we need you to flank The Colonel and buy us some time!”

 

Edward did _not_ like the sound of that. “Don’t do anything stupid, Al!” he shouted worriedly. “I can’t clap anymore, and Mustang’s gone fucking crazy, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

 

“Don’t worry, Edward,” Mei’s young voice was filled with overblown confidence, and Edward rolled his eyes as he remembered how brash and cocky _he_ had been at thirteen, “we can handle The Flame Alchemist!”

 

Fuck, the damned kid was going to get herself killed! he thought with alarm. Well, he’d just have to make sure that didn’t happen. “I’m on it, Al!” he hollered with determination. “You just make sure you take care of yourself and the Obnoxious Brat!”

 

“We’ll be fine, brother!” the younger man yelled in reply. “Just get to The Colonel!”

 

Mei’s voice cut through the air shrilly, “You’re no gentleman, Edward Elric!”

 

“Hey, just calling it like I see it!” he shouted back with a smile. The little brat had stars and hearts in her eyes, and he could only thank whatever deity was listening that _he_ had disappointed her. Even if he hadn’t fallen head-over-ass for Roy, Mei Chang was definitely _not_ his type!

 

As for Mustang. . . He’d mourn later, after Roy was dead and Al was safe.

 

He pushed back a surge of grief and set his glowing hands on the floor, concentrating on the manipulation of the metal composition of the mineral-rich stone, altering it into something he could use. A long metal spear grew out of the ground, wickedly sharp points forming on either end. The Flame Alchemist might be known for ranged fighting, but Edward knew from experience that he was fully capable of up-close-and-personal, in-your-fucking-face combat. Roy had called it pinpoint accuracy. _He_ called it badass. Either way, this was _not_ going to be easy.

 

Edward shoved memories of friendly spars aside, wrapped both hands around his weapon, and dashed to his left. It wasn’t the direct approach that he preferred, but he was trying to _flank_ the man, not meet him head on. He used the smoke from Mustang’s flames as cover, doing his best to stay hidden, but he couldn’t help the added noise from his automail leg. How the hell was he supposed to be sneaky when you could hear him coming a mile away? 

 

Mustang’s gaze flicked in his direction, zeroing in on him with disconcerting accuracy. The older man held his gaze for along, heart-stopping moment, the fires of hell literally burning in the depths of his beautiful obsidian eyes, and then he _smirked._ Edward let out a bellow of fury and rushed him, swinging his spear back and to the right. He was going to gut the crazy bastard, and then he was going to watch him bleed out and _die._ It was as simple—and as fucked up—as that.

Another shadowy lance emerged from the inky blackness at Mustang’s back as he turned to face him fully, the unnatural projectile speeding towards Edward in a streak of ebony death. Edward raised his spear and slashed at it, slicing through it with surprising ease. He dashed through the disintegrating remnants, prepared to hack his way to Mustang if he had to, when the older man did something inexplicable.

 

He withdrew the darkness completely, pulled it back into his body, and used nothing more than his flames to defend against the others’ attacks. He did it absently, with careless flicks of his wrists and lazy snaps of his fingers, all of his attention focused on Edward. His face was alight with anticipation as he stood tall and proud—and crazy as fuck—and simply _waited_ for Edward to reach him. There was no hint of fear in his eyes, no regret for what he had done—for what he was _doing—_ only a sensual appreciation that was as disturbing as it was out of place. Somewhere, in the depths of his crazed mind, he still _wanted_ Edward and—for the very first time—he wasn’t even _trying_ to hide it.

 

Damn him, Edward thought as anguish ripped through him, he had _no_ _right._ He fought back a sob as he drew abreast of the older man, no longer trying for stealth as he raised his spear and prepared to drive it into the organ that passed for Mustang’s heart. Mustang must have read his intentions on his face because he threw back head and began to _laugh._ It was a darkly sadistic sound, one that Edward had heard only once before, and it sparked a rage inside of him that burned every bit as hotly as Roy Mustang’s ever had. 

 

Edward leapt the last few feet separating them, putting everything he had into the strike, determined to end his lover’s rampage once and for all. Roy— _Mustang,_ damn it!—surprised him by extending a gloved hand, palm facing up and fingers slightly curled, as though in welcome. Edward bared his lips in a sneer that belied the jolt of longing sweeping through him. He remembered what had happened back in the tunnel, and he’d be damned if he’d let the bastard fool him again!

 

He thought he heard Mustang murmur, “Pity,” just he before the other man dropped to his knees, turned his palms inward, and _clapped._ His hands hit the floor hard, and Edward’s world exploded in a violent eruption of alchemical energy. He was thrown back by the force of the blast, tossed into air like a rag doll, unable to check his descent as he was hurled across the gigantic chamber. 

 

_When the hell had Mustang learned to do **that?!**_

 

He hit the wall hard, dropping to the floor in a graceless heap. Dimly, heard his name being called, but the blackness hovering at the edges of his vision made it hard to respond. It was Al’s voice, frantic with worry, which finally reached him. He tried to lift his head, to reassure his little brother that he was all right, and nearly vomited as his body rebelled. 

 

Great, he thought fuzzily, another fucking concussion. He was going to give himself brain damage if he didn’t starting being more careful.

 

Edward’s vision blurred slightly, partly obscuring the sight of Mustang as he sauntered towards him. That evil fucking smirk still curled his lips, and Edward gritted his teeth as he fought to right himself. He was in a lot of fucking pain right now, and he could barely see straight, but if he stayed where he was Mustang _would_ finish him, and he had too much left to do to let thathappen. 

 

“Yo, kid, heads up!”

 

Edward scrambled awkwardly to his right as a large white blur dropped out of the air between he and Mustang, his right hand glowing as he unconsciously readied another transmutation. But Mustang had withdrawn, jumping back and _away_ from him, and the relief Edward felt was so strong that he had to close his eyes as it made the world dance crazily around him. The crazy fucker had backed the hell off, and that was _all_ he fucking cared about right now.

 

When he opened his eyes, he discovered that the blur had been Fuhrer Bradley, and that Greed had literally _hurled_ the homunculus to the ground right between he and Mustang. The older man raised one sable brow in an unbearably arrogant expression as he gazed down at his former leader, dark joy all but blazing from his ebony eyes, and Edward was grateful to realize that he had been temporarily forgotten.

 

Mustang stood over the fallen Fuhrer like a dark, avenging angel, his arms spread wide, Pride’s shadows fanning out like great black wings behind him. Wrath’s lips twisted into a contemptuous sneer as his hand tightened on his sword, and Mustang’s laughter rang out once more.

 

“Look how the mighty have fallen,” he commented with genuine—if twisted—amusement. He let his arms fall to his sides, the darkness a great seething mass at his back, and said, “The King is dead, long live The King,” in a mocking voice.

 

“I’m not dead yet, Mustang,” The Fuhrer growled, his voice barely audible as the sounds of Hohenheim’s and Father’s alchemy echoed through the chamber. “It will take more than an abomination like _you_ to kill me.”

 

Mustang merely shrugged his broad shoulders unconcernedly, the darkness absorbing every bit of energy thrown at him, his attention wholly focused on Bradley. “Let’s put that to the test, shall we—sir?”

 

Wrath was bleeding heavily wounds almost too numerous to count, but he hadn’t been chosen to become the first human-based homunculus for nothing. He came up swinging, his sword spraying droplets of blood in a wide arch as he struck. He buried the blade in deep Mustang’s side, so deep that it resonated as it struck bone. Mustang looked down at himself, and with no discernable change of expression, reached down and wrapped a hand around the sword’s grip. He pulled the blade free with a gush of rich crimson blood, and Edward watched dazedly as the wound began to heal in a flash-storm of bright scarlet light.

 

Mustang lifted the sword, turning it this way and that as he tested its balance. “It’s a very nice blade, sir, but I can do you one better,” he said malevolent simplicity.

 

Heavy, clanking footsteps pounded towards him, but Edward couldn’t look away, too caught up in the perverse display before him. Mustang tossed the blade aside with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, smiling down at Bradley with a hunger that was pure Pride, and the darkness pounced. A great black blade formed out of the shadows, gleaming with disturbing obsidian light as it rose up high over Mustang’s head. 

 

“Brother!”

 

“Alphonse, stay there!” Edward ordered him in as authoritative a voice as he could manage, thrusting one arm out to warn him away. “Don’t come any closer!”

The thundering footfalls stopped abruptly. “But we’ve got a _plan,_ Brother!” Alphonse hollered in return. “Remember Pride?”

 

How could he forget, Edward thought with a touch of hysteria, when he staring straight into the dark heart of the Homunculus’ power? 

 

The darkness shot forward, stabbing into the soft flesh of Bradley’s stomach, pinning him to the floor below. The older man responded with a muted grunt of pain, his one good eye narrowing on his tormentor. Serrated teeth gleamed from within the night-black folds of Mustang’s darkness, invisible lips parting in an impossibly wide grin, and Wrath never faltered as he ripped the unnatural blade free and lunged forward to meet the threat head-on. 

 

Not even he was fast enough to outrun death. 

 

Mustang turned his maddened gaze back to him, and Edward hastily scrambled to his feet, even as the pain in his skull threatened to bring him crashing right back down. “Just hurry the fuck up and do whatever you’re going to do, Al!”

 

The darkness cut through the air with a strange wine, faster than Edward had ever seen it attack. He lifted his right arm out of habit, remembered too late that he didn’t have his automail, and prayed that Scar’s destructive alchemy would be enough to save his life.

 

He reached out and let the first tendril to reach curl around his arm, activating the Grand Arcane with only a thought. Powerful alchemic energy sizzled and surged along the elongated lance of darkness, zooming up its shadowy length and slamming into Mustang in a searing flash of alchemy. Mustang threw his head back and screamed in agony, falling to his knees as the darkness burst apart in a violent explosion of thick ebony ash. 

 

Greed landed lithely behind the stunned man, one clawed hand splayed out on the ground for balance, his eyes little more than narrowed pools of glowing white energy. His skin was dark gunmetal gray, completely covered by the natural armor of his Ultimate Shield, every inch the powerful homunculus as he focused on the horror Mustang had become. 

 

“Do it, Al,” his voice was little more than bestial growl as he leapt at Mustang’s unprotected back. “Do it _now!”_

The homunculus thrust one hand deep into Mustang’s back, the other wrapping around tight around his throat, holding him in place as he searched the other man’s chest cavity for Pride’s and Wrath’s Philosopher’s Stones. “Damn it, kid, clap your fucking hands already. I’m not going to be able to hold him for long!”

 

“But what about you?” Alphonse protested, hesitating with his hands mere inches apart. “What about _Ling?”_

 

The homunculus growled his frustration as Mustang regained enough awareness to begin struggling. “We’ll be fine, kid!” he shouted angrily, allowing Ling’s consciousness to thread with his own, hoping that hearing it from someone he considered a friend would be enough to reassure him. “He’s right, Alphonse. We’ll be fine, so long as you hurry.”

 

The hulking suit of armor that was the youngest Elric brother shifted with a clanking noise, a physical manifestation of his uncertainty, and Greed had had enough. The kid’s crazy Colonel was fighting in earnest now, and it wouldn’t be long before he recovered enough energy to regenerate Pride’s shadows. He didn’t have _time_ for this sentimental bullshit!

 

He shoved Ling back into the depths of his own consciousness, stubbornly digging his claws into Mustang’s neck, his sharpened fingertips sinking deep enough to send blood flowing over his hand. “Kid, talk some fucking sense into your brother,” he yelled to Edward urgently. “Tell him to quit fucking arguing and just _do it_ already!”

 

By now, Edward had a pretty good idea of what Al had planned, and he was _all_ for it. “I’m on it, Greed!” 

 

He grinned ferociously at the blur that was his friend as he raced across the chamber to his join his brother. It was about fucking time things went their way! He skidded to a stop beside Alphonse, little more than a vague impression of pale gray metal, and dropped heavily to his knees. He saw another blur just beyond him, pink and purple and tiny as hell, and flashed what had to be Mei an encouraging smile.

 

“Come on,” he told them encouragingly, “he’ll be fine. Let’s kick Mustang’s ass together!”

 

“Right!” Alphonse’s metal helmet turned towards him, those lights shining brighter as they promptly blurred out of focus. “Together, brother!”

 

He heard more than saw the distinctive clang of Mei’s five Xingese daggers hitting the ground and knew that she was ready. Alphonse clapped his leather-gloved hands, the all too familiar sound ringing through the colossal room, and Edward nodded as he touched his own fingertips to the floor. All three arrays activated simultaneously, their combined alchemic energy racing along the ground, weaving a destructive path through the smooth stone until it reached the two struggling men. Huge slabs of rock-hewn earth rose up out of the floor, spiraling around Greed and Mustang until they were completely encased in an airtight prison.

 

“Thank motherfucking God!” Edward exclaimed with relief, sending a relieved smile in his brother’s direction. “See, you were worried for nothing, Al.”

 

“But their air won’t last long, Ed,” Alphonse’s never turned to face him, and Edward squinted as he followed his gaze to the cone of smooth rock. “What if Ling loses consciousness before Colonel Mustang does? He’ll be helpless in there.”

 

Edward snorted and waved his worry away, not even sure that Greed _needed_ to breathe to stay alive. “I think that Greed can take care of them both, Al.”

 

“Not if he ends up unconscious, too!”

 

Edward took a closer look at his brother, forcing himself to focus as best he could. What he saw was his little brother, practically _wringing_ his hands in concern, and promptly burst out laughing. You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me, he thought with amusement. His baby brother was deep in the throes of his first major crush, and it was with the cheap, shifty, squinty-eyed, pain in the ass _prince?_

“Oh, Al.” He wrapped his arms around his middle and shook his tawny head, grateful to have something to laugh about in the midst of all this death. “Ling? I mean, come on, _Ling?”_

“Ling?” Mei sounded startled—and a little bit angry—and Edward belatedly remembered that she’d transferred her own short-lived crush to Al after the crushing disappointment of meeting _him._ “That better not mean what I think it means, Alphonse Elric!”

 

“What?” The younger man’s impossibly broad shoulders hunched with a telling creak of leather and metal. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Ed! And what’s wrong with Ling?”

 

Edward chortled even harder at that. “You mean besides the fact that he’s sneaky, eats more than his weight in food, and shares his body with a greedy homunculus?” he questioned rhetorically. “ Why, nothing, Al. Nothing at all.”

 

“Edward. . .” His brother’s voice hardened just enough to tell him that he was treading on dangerous ground, and Edward quickly backed off. They last thing he wanted was to piss his little brother off, especially since he’d never won a fight against him! Besides, it wasn’t like _his_ taste in lovers was any better.

 

That thought sobered him, and he turned back to join his brother in his rock-gazing. “Sorry,” he mumbled apologetically. “I just thought. . .I didn’t even know that you _liked_ guys like that. Besides, what happened to you marrying Winry? You won that fight, remember?”

 

“We were kids, Ed.” The slightest hint of impatience colored his brother’s tinny voice. “I liked Winry for a long time, but she never showed me the slightest interest. It was always _you_ that she liked. I had to move on, brother.”

 

Edward winced at that. Contrary to popular belief, he _did_ notice the shit going on around him, and Winry’s crush on him had been both flattering and bewildering—and, for a time, returned. Then, Roy had dragged him across his desk in a fit of anger and kissed him senseless. From that moment on, Edward had belonged to him, and he knew with unquestionable certainty that he always would. 

 

“Ling will be all right,” he assured the younger man in a quieter, more subdued voice. Neither of them acknowledged Mei as she muttered under her breath about the Yao Clan’s accursed good fortune beside them. “Greed will keep him safe while we figure out how to kill Roy—” he winced and hastily corrected himself, “I mean, Mustang! How to kill _Mustang_.”

 

“Are you boys all right?” 

 

Edward look over his shoulder to see Hohenheim slowly making his way towards them, and was almost glad for the haze that his concussion was casting over everything. He made a rude sound and looked away, ignoring Alphonse’s hiss of, “Ed, he’s our dad!” as he did so. If Von Hohenheim had been any kind of father, he wouldn’t have left their mother to die alone, fucking _pining_ for him. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have left his two sons alone to try to perform human transmutation to bring her back. But Alphonse barely remembered the old man, and if he wanted to get to know him Edward wouldn’t stand in his way, but _he_ wanted nothing to do with him.

 

Hohenheim came to a halt beside Alphonse and gazed down at him with sad, weary eyes that Edward could—unfortunately—see, and he wanted nothing more than to punch the look right off of his face. “We’re fine,” he answered shortly, stifling a groan as he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “I’m gonna go check on Greed.”

 

He paused and looked passed Hohenheim to his homunculus clone. He couldn’t be sure right now, but it _looked_ like Izumi was helping the old man onto what was left of his “throne”. “What about him?” he asked at length. “We’re not going to have to fight him too, are we?”

 

The older man tucked his hands into his trouser pockets with a troubled expression. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “The Dwarf’s Stone is nearly depleted, but if he chooses to attack us, we’d still be hard-pressed to defeat him.”

 

Edward’s lips tightened with resolve as he looked down at his right arm. “He could throw everything he’s got at us and it wouldn’t matter,” he stated in a flat voice. “We’d still kick his ancient ass back to The Gate.”

 

Hohenheim looked amused even as he warned, “Don’t get too cocky, son,” and waited for the inevitable explosion.

 

It never came. Edward merely shrugged and turned his back on him completely. “Don’t ever call me that again, old man, or you might not live to regret it.”

 

His voice was cold, far colder than Hohenheim had believed possible for his hot-tempered son. “Edward. . .”

 

“Brother, wait!” He heard the creaking of steel and leather as his brother stood and simply waited for the inevitable. “What happened to your arm? How did you get it back? Why can’t you clap anymore, and _why_ do you have Scar’s tattoos?”

 

Edward looked passed the enclosure, where Scar’s seared remains still rested in the open doorway, and hung his head as sorrow flowed through him. “Why the fuck do you think, Al?” he choked out before walking away.

 

He made his way to the center of the room, trying not to think about the loss of Alphonse’s body, or deaths of so many of his friends. Scar, Hawkeye, Jerso, Zampano. . .they were all gone, and there was still a chance that they could lose Ling and Greed. He’d never dealt well with grief, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do _now_. How could he look Al in the eye and tell him that he’d never get his body back because _he_ had trusted the wrong man? 

 

He shuddered and scrubbed a hand through his bangs. At least, Mustang was contained, he thought wearily. He had to admit that it was a pretty good plan, one that had taken Mustang completely by surprise. Roy hadn’t been there when Al had used his alchemy to trap Pride, so he hadn’t known how easily they could exploit the homunculus’ only weakness. Pride would have expected it, but unlike Greed and Ling, his consciousness had obviously been suppressed—or destroyed—by Mustang’s own.

 

It didn’t solve the problem of how to kill fucker, though. The Flame Alchemist had successfully bonded with the one homunculus they’d never been able to definitively defeat. So far, containment was all they had managed, and Edward knew that wasn’t going to be enough. Eventually, Mustang would find a way to get free, and they would have no choice but to deal with him. The fucker was damned near immortal now, and he had absolutely _no_ personal restraints. What the hell were they going to _do?_

 

Edward’s question was left unanswered as he came to a halt before the massive cone of earth and stone. He slowly reached out, splaying one gloveless hand across its smooth surface. He could hear movement inside, the desperate struggles of two powerful monsters as each fought for supremacy over the others, and wondered if it would ever end. Would Greed find Mustang’s Stones and destroy him, or would he be devoured like the others, another sacrifice on the pyre of Roy’s interminable rage?

 

“I’ll put an end to it, Roy,” he whispered achingly, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the enclosure. He could feel the vibrations of their fight, pounding in time with the ache in his head, and wanted nothing more than to curl up in a dark corner and weep. “I won’t let you _this_ be your only legacy. You’ll go down in history as a hero who died protecting his country, not as one of the monsters who tried to destroy it. I fucking swear it.”

 

“It’s a little too late for that, I’m afraid.” Edward jumped, startled, as Mustang’s voice came to him. It was muffled by rock, strained by what he hoped was pain, but its mocking intonations reached him all the same. “Soon, they’ll all be dead, and all that will be left is you and I.”

 

Edward trembled as the gut-wrenching sound of flesh and bone giving way came to him. “Think of the _endless_ possibilities, Fullmetal.” 

 

_Oh, fuck!_

His fear returned tenfold as he laid both shaking hands flat against the enclosure. “Greed!” he called out urgently, silently urging the homunculus to respond. “What’s going on in there? Are you okay? Talk to me, Greed!”

 

Dark, sardonic laughter was the only response to his terrified query. “No!” he shouted, pounding on the stone prison helplessly. “Greed? Ling? Come on, Greeling, one of you _fucking answer me!”_

 

“Brother?!” Alphonse ran towards him, the weight of his armored body causing the ground to quake in his wake. “What’s going on? Has something happened to Ling?”

 

“I don’t know, Al!” Edward answered sharply, swallowing hard as he slanted a troubled look his brother’s way. He knew that Alphonse was worried about Ling—hell, he was worried about _both_ of their friends right now—but if anyone could take care themselves, it was Greeling. “We need a plan to kill Mustang, and we need it _now._ ”

 

Unspoken was the knowledge that they didn’t dare breach the stone prison. It would only give Mustang the opportunity to use Pride’s shadows against them, and they’d barely managed to survive the first encounter as it was. Mustang had joined with two powerful homunculi, and coupled with his own inborn gifts, the odds were that he _would_ follow through on his threat to slaughter them all if he got free.

 

“I believe I can help with that,” a deep voice said from behind them.

 

Edward turned around slowly, watching with cautious golden eyes as Father slowly made his way towards him. Though the entire situation was _his_ fault, he had just as much to lose as they did. He was over four-hundred years old, and his entire existence had been dedicated to this day. Not that they would _ever_ let him fucking succeed, but with Mustang depleting his Philosopher’s Stone and damn near killing him, it _was_ in his best interest to help them. He’d probably turn on them when he was done, but at least Mustang would be fucking dead!

 

“What would you suggest?” Hohenheim threw out harshly, suspicion clear on his almost identical features. “It took all of us to distract him long enough to trap him in this.”

 

He made a vague gesture towards the stone cone, and Father’s tawny eyes took on a hooded quality that clearly expressed his disdain. “He devoured Pride from within, and he swallowed Wrath despite his resistance. He is very powerful, but he is a part of _me,_ now,” the oldest Homunculus explained with unbearable arrogance. “I can break him down, reduce my progenies’ Stones to their base forms, and return them to my own body.”

 

“And how does that help us with Mustang?” Izumi demanded, one hand pressed to her stomach as though it pained her. “He’s a powerhouse all on his own.”

 

Father slanted her an inscrutable look. “I assure you, this is not a process he will survive.”

 

The First Homunculus raised his hand, and the ground on the west side of the room parted. Two circular slabs of flat metal slid slowly apart, revealing a bubbling cauldron of red-hot magma. The large cylindrical object rose up out of the floor, its contents hot enough to send steam billowing towards the arched ceiling, and Edward frowned as he gazed at it. Well, at least he knew what to do with Father if he turned on them!

 

“Ask Greed, if you don’t believe me,” the homunculus added with a touch of satisfaction. “This is how his original incarnation met its end, after all.”

 

“Yeah,” a muffled voice screamed angrily, “and it fucking hurt, Pops! Don’t think I’ve forgotten that!”

 

Reluctant amusement flashed through Father’s golden eyes as they flicked to the funnel-shaped prison. “Of course not, my errant son.”

 

Edward couldn’t help but glare at the heartless old bastard before turning back to the enclosure. “Fuck, Greed, you had me worried for a minute there!” he yelled, thumping the thick stone for emphasis. “Next time fuckin’ answer when I call you!”

 

“Shit, kid, that’s hard to do when your throats been ripped out!” Greed hollered in return. “I bludgeoned the shit of out of your Colonel for you, by the way. I killed enough of his stones to stun him, so he’s kinda out of it right now, but that won’t last long. So, let me the fuck out of here so the old man can do his thing!”

 

“You got it, Greeling!” Edward grinned with relief as he took a step back and gestured for Alphonse to take his place. “I’ll let you do the honors, Al. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of _true love.”_

 

_“Ed!”_

If he still possessed a physical body, Edward suspected that he’d be blushing beet-red. Edward crossed his arms and tried to focus on _that_ instead of what was going to happen next. He _knew_ that Mustang had to die. Realistically, there was no way they could let him live after what he had done. Even if there were some way to mend his broken mind, to drag him back from the abyss of insanity, whatever was left of the military when this was done would execute him for his crimes. It was better that it end now, at the hands of those who remembered the man Roy had been, and not the monster he had let himself become.

 

He blinked back tears—damn it, he’d never cried as much in his entire life as he had today!—and watched as his brother clapped and set his leather-clad hands on the conical stone. A small fissure appeared in the wall, just large enough for a full-sized man to crawl through. The top of Greed’s dark head poked out, and Edward smiled fondly as he watched Al drop to his knees to help the other man out. Greed was grinning as he was pulled into the room, but way he flopped onto the ground in a loose-limbed sprawl that betrayed his own relief at being freed.

 

The homunculus ignored the flash of alchemy as Alphonse sealed the stone closed once more, aiming an exasperated look Edward’s way. “Took you long enough, kid.”

 

“Bitch, moan, and complain,” Edward mock-grumbled as he crouched beside him. He took in the blood staining the rounded collar of his tunic and exhaled harshly, grateful that Mustang hadn’t managed to kill him too. “I owe you one, Greed. Thanks.”

 

The homunculus dragged himself up onto his elbows tiredly. “Hey, I couldn’t let one of my possessions get gutted, now could I?” he questioned rhetorically. “I take care of my own, kid. You should know that.”

 

“Ppfftt.” Edward reached down and landed a friendly punch on his bare shoulder. “Possession, my ass. It’s called friendship, moron.”

 

“Whatever.” Greed shrugged, unconcerned, his violet eyes moving to Alphonse. The younger man was watching them closely, and even though his armor didn’t convey any sort of expression at all, Greed had no problem interpreting the silent intensity of his gaze for what it was. He sighed and rolled his gaze back to Edward, his expression eloquent. “Not a problem I need, Ed.”

 

One corner of Edward’s mouth lifted in a crooked half-smile. “Ling’s problem, not yours,” he murmured quietly, and Greed took the hint. Be nice to the kid’s kid brother. He could do that. It wasn’t like he didn’t like Alphonse. Hell, it wasn’t even that he didn’t have a physical body. Even if the kid _weren’t_ a disembodied soul slapped into a suit of armor, Greed wouldn’t be interested. He _so_ did not swing that way. Ling, unfortunately, did. He just swung towards the _other_ Elric brother, which was a whole other can of worms.

 

Fuck, he thought succinctly, flopping back onto the floor. “Thanks for the save, Al,” he threw out sincerely, but—most important of all— _casually_. “It was starting to get rank in there.”

 

Alphonse only nodded, metal grinding on metal as he rose to his feet, and Greed felt a little bad. Al was a good kid, and he’d gotten raw deal in life, but trying to attach himself to Ling Yao was the worst thing he could possibly do. Ling had only two ambitions in life—doing Ed and becoming emperor of Xing. He just didn’t care about anything—or anyone—else.

 

He ignored Ling’s outraged mental protest at the thought, silently acknowledging that The Prince _did_ care about the people he would one day rule. And yeah, he _knew_ that the prince had loved old man Fu, and that that love extended to his granddaughter, Lan Fan. But Ling considered them family, and you just didn’t fuck family the way that he wanted to fuck Edward Elric. 

 

“Hey.” He felt a nudge on his shoulder and quickly jerked his attention back to the present. Edward was still crouched over him, concern gleaming from the depths of his tawny eyes. “Everything okay in there?”

 

“Ling’s just being a pain in the ass. You know how he is,” Greed answered with a roll of his wine-colored eyes. “Nothing to worry about, kid.”

 

“Good.” Edward rose to his feet, swaying slightly as his head reminded him that he abused it one time too many today, and extended an arm to the other man. “C’mon, Greeling, let’s get this over with.” 

 

Greed took the proffered hand but made sure to use his own momentum to gain his feet. “You look like you’re about to fall over,” he commented critically. “Just how hard _did_ you hit your head when Colonel Crazy threw you?”

 

A faint smile ghosted over Edward’s lips at that. “Concussion,” he stated succinctly. “Nothing I haven’t been through before.”

 

“Fuck, your taste in men is worse than Li—” Golden eyes slitted in a warning glare and Greed snapped his mouth shut. He noticed the kid’s father frowning at them and hastily changed the subject. “So, Pops,” he turned to his own “father” and a flashed blinding smile, “you ready to do your thing or what?”

 

Golden eyes flicked from him to Edward and back again, irritation flitting across his aged features, and Greed turned the smile up a notch. “You and your _humans,”_ Father commented snidely, a faint sneer twisting his lips as he turned away from his wayward progeny. 

 

“Hey, blame yourself,” Greed returned easily. He’d stopped caring what the old man thought of him a _long_ time ago. “I’m the manifestation of _your_ avarice—Dad.”

 

When Father’s eyes narrowed with displeasure, and Edward quickly stepped between them. “Knock it the fuck off, Greed,” he snapped, aiming a determined look at Father. “We need to lift that,” he pointed at the earthen prison, “and drop it into your little bubble bath without unsealing it. Are gonna fucking help us or not?”

 

The First Homunculus merely studied him for a long, silent moment, and Edward fought the urge to knock the old man’s teeth in. He didn’t have his automail anymore, and right now, they really _did_ need this asshole’s help. Otherwise, he’d already be on the floor spitting teeth!

 

He never did give a verbal response, Edward would remember later. He merely faced the enclosure that was Mustang’s prison, calmly raised his right hand, and the world went to hell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight with Father and Mustang continues. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I only wish I owned the rights to Edward Elric and Roy Mustang and Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. If I did, it would have been a hellova lot more violent, and yaoi. Definitely yaoi.
> 
> Author’s Note: Angst mixed with action. . .you gotta love FMAB! Does anyone else love the thought of crazy/sexy Mustang, or is it just me? Oh, and all hail Skalidra, my wonderful new beta. Any mistakes left over are all mine! Now, on with the show!
> 
> Author’s Note II: Actinic = alchemic. Just an FYI for those who aren’t familiar with the word =)

* * *

He never knew if it was Father’s doing or Mustang’s. He only knew that the enclosure that he, Alphonse, and Mei had constructed together exploded in a fiery blast of stone, flame, and shadow. The force of the explosion sent him flying, tumbling ass-over-end amidst a stinging barrage of smoldering rock. He threw his hands up to protect his head, wincing as bits of sharpened stone sliced the bare flesh of his hands and arms. 

 

Edward hit the ground hard, landing on his left side with a jolt that sent a spear of pain shooting through the length of his body. He heard a high, feminine cry of pain, followed by his brother’s frantic, “Mei!” and fought to raise his head. He opened his eyes to assess the situation and groaned as the world began to spin anew. Reality was little more than a whirling blur of light and shadow that made his stomach rolled queasily, and he hastily shut his eyes to make it stop. 

 

He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and silently willed his battered head to cooperate. Yeah, he was hurt, but it wasn’t like it was the first fucking time or anything. This was his third concussion in the last four years. You’d think his body would be _used_ to this shit by now!

 

“Brother,” a loud clap rent the smoky air, “look out!” 

 

Edward’s eyes snapped open as the distinctive tang of alchemy filled his nostrils. The world continued to shift in and out of focus at a nauseating rate, and he squinted into the miasma of smoke and ash to focus his vision. He caught a brief, hazy glimpse of a tall, pale silhouette coming towards him just before a wall shot up out of the floor between them.

 

He hastily pushed himself up with his arms, pulling his legs under him as he moved to stand, and nearly passed out. The jolt of pain was intense as it surged up his left leg, startling a scream from his throat as it sent him crashing back down to the ground. He reached down with a shaking hand, sobbing out a curse as he checked the damage. The metal hadn’t just been banged up a little; it felt all gnarled and twisted, almost like the gears had been freakin’ _welded_ to the outer casing or something. 

 

_Not good_ , he thought dimly, blinking as he strove to restore his wavering vision. Winry was going to kill him for this one!

 

He pushed thoughts of his childhood friend, one-time crush, and automail mechanic aside as he reached farther down. He touched the knee joint gingerly and flinched as agony flared anew. He breathed through the pain, waiting for it to ebb, and _carefully_ inched his hand lower. His fingers met nothing but air, and his gut clenched hard in sudden panic. 

 

It wasn’t possible, Edward told himself desperately. His fucking leg wasn’t _gone._ It _couldn’t_ be. He’d hurt it, fucked it all to hell, but it couldn’t be _gone,_ because without it, he was as good as _dead_. How the _fuck_ was he supposed to defend himself – or anyone else – if he couldn’t even walk?!

 

His hand closed around a twisted length of pure steel and he nearly sobbed with relief. The aluminum-tempered outer casing had been completely obliterated in the blast, but the core of the prosthetic, the steel rod designed to mimic the Tibia bone, was still there. Yeah, it was fucked all to hell and it hurt like a bitch, but it was _still there_. He’d be able to walk – to _fight –_ and that was _all_ that fucking mattered.

 

A quartet of pitch-black lances cut throughAl’s protective barrier, sending his improvised wall tumbling to the ground, followed by an outraged roar that shook the lair’s very foundations. _“Fullmetal!”_

 

Edward’s head snapped head up as the wall caved, just in time to see Mustang – deceptively slim, clad in deep Amestrian blue, cloaked in thick gray smoke – striding purposefully through the rubble towards him. He instinctively jerked away, using his arms and his right leg to scramble back, putting a few pitiful feet between himself and the approaching Flame Alchemist, before he came up against something solid. He lashed out automatically, bringing his right arm around to smash his way through the obstacle, only to stop in mid-swing. Not only did he _not_ have his automail anymore, there was no way in hell he’d be able to simply smash his way through _this._

 

It was _Father_ that he was pressed up against, but not the old man with the golden beard and white robes that Edward knew. In his place was a violet-skinned, man-shaped silhouette, which looked down at him with thousands of slanted purple eyes. A wide grin appeared on his altered face, purplish lips stretching over too-large white teeth, his right hand warping into a bizarre eye-covered gun.

 

Edward’s eyes narrowed defiantly as the muzzle of the unnatural weapon pressed against his forehead. “Go ahead and do it,” he growled angrily, his right arm tensing as he mentally sifted through array after useless array. Nothing in his vast arsenal would be enough to destroy _this_ homunculus. “But you just lost yourself a sacrifice, old man!”

 

The First Homunculus laughed giddily, a sound crazy enough to rival any he’d heard Mustang make, and pressed harder. “I don’t need you anymore, son of Hohenheim,” he declared gleefully. “I can use the souls in _him_ to complete the transmutation _.”_

 

“You know that will never work!” Hohenheim’s too-deep voice rose to a fierce roar as he sent a wave of intense alchemic energy surging towards Father. “Even if our master’s soul still exists within you, you need a _live_ alchemist to complete the transmutation! Kill my son and you will never succeed!”

 

Father lifted his left hand and erected an alchemic shield, protecting himself from Hohenheim’s attack – and trapping Edward in its actinic snare. “And what do _you,_ a merehuman _slave,_ know of such things?” the homunculus threw out tauntingly, his purplish lips twisting into a derisive sneer as he flung his own power back at the other man. “I am Homunculus!”

 

Hohenheim crossed his arms before his face, creating a barrier to shield himself from the homunculus’ counter-attack. The energy slammed into the alchemic barrier, powerful enough to send him _and_ his shield skidding back a few paces, and Edward had had enough. He glared up at the monstrosity above him, his vivid golden eyes narrowing ferally as he called on the power that Scar had sacrificed his life to give him. Blue-tinged light danced around his right hand and along the length of his arm as his body tensed with anticipation. Maybe, he couldn’t kill the piece of shit homunculus, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t _hurt_ the fucking son of a bitch!

 

“Leave the old man alone!” he shouted, bringing up his left hand to shove the shadow-born firearm away from his face as he surged to his feet. He thrust his right into the homunculus’ face and activated the deadliest array he could think of. “Your fight is with _me,_ asshole!”

 

Myriad amethyst eyes slid towards him, flowing along the surface of the homunculus’ deep violet skin in a ripple of unnatural movement, their already exaggerated slant emphasized as they slitted ominously. “You are less than nothing,” he snarled scornfully, his words becoming muffled beneath Edward’s hand as the skin around his lips begun to sag grotesquely, “the son of a lowly Xerxesian slave. You can’t kill _me.”_

 

“Oh, I’m not trying to kill you, motherfucker,” Edward’s voice was little more than a growl as he bared his teeth in a fierce grin, “I’m just going to make you _hurt.”_

 

Edward poured every bit of strength he could muster into the transmutation, feeding energy through the circle in his mind and the array on his arm. He could feel the power as it shifted and grew within him, stronger than any transmutation hehad ever created before. Fuck, no wonder Scar had taken so many fucking alchemists out, if _this_ was any indication of how powerful his alchemy had been!

 

“Insect!” Father’s abnormal skin flowed down its unnatural body in thick, glob-like swathes, his voice garbled nearly beyond comprehension as a river of purple flesh poured out of his mouth like melting rubber. “You are a fool if you think that you are capable of harming me, boy!”

 

Edward gritted his teeth and reached deep inside himself for _more._ “Just shut the fuck up and _feel it_ already!”

 

The mouth disappeared completely, buried under an avalanche of putrid wine-colored goop and amalgamated alchemy, only to emerge out of the blob that had once been his shoulder. Large teeth snapped at him ferally, and he bared his own as he stubbornly tightened his grip on the oozing mound of flesh that had once been the homunculus’ head. The monster made an unintelligible gurgling sound, probably more of his superior bullshit, and Edward sank his fingers even deeper into the putrid-smelling tissue. Sweat formed on his brow from the exertion, dampening his bangs as it ran in streams down his temples, but he barely noticed, too caught up in his determination to cause Father as much pain as possible. The homunculus’ body was melting under the intensity of his borrowed alchemy, but Edward wasn’t stupid enough to believe it would kill him. The First Homunculus was too old, too experienced – despite his lack of alkahestrical knowledge – to let himself be beaten so easily.

 

Sure enough, Father’s rapidly disintegrating body began to undulate warningly, large, bulbous mounds forming beneath his unnatural flesh, and Edward knew that the jig was up. The flow of the homunculus’ skin shifted, changing direction as it shot forward to wrap tightly around Edward’s wrists. He found himself yanked him forward, the thick soles of his boots skidding on the floor as he was literally dragged towards the deteriorating monster.

 

Edward immediately began to fight, digging his heels into the ground and rearing as far back as he could, his automail leg clattering as pain shot up his thigh. He could feel Father’s skin – or whatever the fuck it actually was – creping up his legs, could _see_ the purple goo flowing ever so slowly down his bare arms, and knew that if he didn’t do something _right now,_ he was a dead man. He was going to be absorbed – _eaten_ – just like Pride, Wrath and Gluttony.

 

_Oh,_ _hell fucking no!_

 

He reached deeper inside of himself, into the well of deep-seated anger that was never far from him, and threw it into the transmutation too. Actinic energy flared brightly, illuminating he and the monster he fought with luminous brilliance, as he activated the array on his left arm. He couldn’t create anything that would actually harm the fucker, but he could damn well keep himself from getting eaten!

 

He concentrated hard, using Father’s own unnatural body as a medium, and pulled as many elements out of the stone floor as he could, drawing them up and around him in a desperate attempt to save himself. He knew even as the stone barrier closed over his head that it wouldn’t be enough – his arms were sticking out of it, and Father’s “skin” was creating fissures in the smooth facade and seeping through it – but he had to _try._ He’d be damned if he would give up without a fucking fight. Father was going to have to _work_ for his goddamned victory!

 

Laughter, disturbingly high-pitched and unquestionably mad, penetrated the earthen barrier. “Son of Hohenheim, I _will_ destroy you!” 

 

“You think to harm what is _mine?!”_

Edward jolted as Mustang’s voice sounded behind him, its normally silken tone a thunderous roar that betrayed the rage that still burned within him. A snap echoed loudly, reverberating through his skull – fuck, but that hurt! – and then he felt the heat. He could only imagine the flames as he heard – and felt – them lick at his stone barrier and curl almost lovingly around the anomalous flesh encasing his arms. 

 

Father’s laughter cut off abruptly, replaced by a low growl that betrayed his own rising anger – an anger that he claimed to have shed after creating Wrath. “Human,” to Edward’s astonishment he felt Father draw back, releasing his arms as the purple substance that passed for his skin withdrew from his shield completely, “you try my patience!”

 

The roar of alchemy met the sizzle of flame, only to be drowned out by a thunderclap that shook the ground beneath Edward’s feet and brought his barrier – and his body – crashing down to the ground. He rose to a crouch, catching a brief glance of Father – bound by ethereal chains of living red-gold flame – before he whirled around to confront the new menace. Mustang stood directly above him, the thin, sensual lips that had worshipped his own thinned into a bloodless line, his beautiful ebony eyes ablaze with fury as he stared not at Edward, but at the First Homunculus.

 

_This_ was the Flame Alchemist, the man who had incinerated two homunculi into nothing but ash, and had _absorbed_ two more. “Oh, fuck me!” he whispered unsteadily, knowing that he was well and truly screwed. He was trapped between two powerful monsters, both alchemists who wanted him dead, and he couldn’t even use his damned alchemy to kill them. They’d just fucking heal, and then _he’d_ be the one dead! 

 

“Fullmetal belongs to _me,_ homunculus.” Possession, fueled by insanity, flared in those exotic midnight eyes. “Harm him and I will _end_ you.”

 

Edward licked his lips nervously, confusion filling him as he gazed up at the man who’d once claimed to love him. This man – this _monster –_ had already tried to kill him twice. So, why the fuck was he standing here now, _defending_ him, acting like he gave a fucking damn? 

 

That sensual ebony gaze dropped to his own, and Edward recoiled as he saw the echoes of what had once been Roy’s love for him blossoming in their twisted, blackened depths. It was entwined with the madness that had already consumed him, as dark and warped as Mustang himself now was, but it was _there._ Edward just didn’t understand why.How could something as fragile as love survive something as insoluble as insanity?

 

But he didn’t have the time to ponder the phenomenon as a slim, white-gloved hand whipped out and wrapped tightly around his wrist. Before he could do more than form the thought to fight, he found himself pulled to the side and himself shoved _behind_ the older man. He immediately began to struggle against the other man’s hold, certain that this was just another trick to lull him into a false sense of security, only to find himself _released_ without a fight. 

 

_What the fuck?_

 

Mustang slanted a glance over his shoulder, the exotic tilt of his faintly Xingese eyes emphasized as his long sable lashes dropped to half-cover smoldering midnight orbs. “Stay there, Fullmetal,” the other man looked away, that bottomless black gaze locking onto Father once more, “I’ll take care of this vermin.”

 

Edward took a step back and to the side, his expression betraying his wariness as he instinctively readied another offensive array in his mind. Scar’s power flared up within him, only to die as quickly as it had formed as he got his a good look at Mustang’s face. Fine, pale features had hardened into a mask of ice-cold rage. It wasn’t directed at him, but it made him tremble all the same. This was how Roy had looked just before he’d given in to his anger and burned Envy alive. He had murdered his own soul then, killing everything that had been good and decent inside of him with the act, and he’d taken Edward, Scar and Hawkeye to hell with him. Who would pay the price for his vengeance, now?

 

When he finally struck, it was without warning. There were no cocky one-liners, no snapping of white-gloved fingers, no whisper of physical movement at all. There was absolutely nothing to betray his intentions. There was only Mustang, Father, and _darkness._

 

It streamed out from Mustang’s body in a billowing midnight rush, a great mass of night-black shadows that writhed and seethed at its master’s back. Long winding ribbons of the purest jet shot out of the abnormal mass, twining around the First Homunculus in an unnatural coil that wrenched him off his feet. Gunshots sounded and reverberated as Father’s hand reformed the gun, alchemical bullets slamming into Mustang’s chest with each pull of the homunculus’ finger on the trigger as he was lifted high into the air. It made no difference as crimson energy danced along the circumference of each wound, knitting them closed until only pale skin and crimson smears remained. The darkness itself stretched and flowed over Father, enveloping his unnatural body from the neck down, a shadowed shroud from which not even the First Homunculus could hope to escape. 

 

The myriad of large arched eyes on Father’s head narrowed in a glare of impotent fury, and Mustang responded with a darkly malicious smirk. “And what will you do now, homunculus?” he questioned lightly, the arrogance that was so much a part of him all but dripping from the dark silk of his voice as he slowly – oh, so slowly – drew the First Homunculus to him. “Do you still think to use me as a sacrifice?”

 

Laughter erupted from the purple-skinned monstrosity, a bewilderingly confident sound that belied the reality of Father’s situation, and had Edward’s instincts screaming in warning. “I am the first,” that deep voice seemed to thunder through the cavernous chamber as Father spoke. “I am Homunculus, and _you,_ alchemist, are nothing more than an insignificant human,fit only for sacrifice.”

 

A quintet of thick inky shadows shot out of the First Homunculus, whipping through the room in five different directions. One snaked passed Mustang and wrapped itself around Edward’s waist, pinning his arms to his sides so tightly that the only person his newly acquired alchemy could possibly harm was himself, as he was yanked up and then tossed back down. He landed with a bounce that made little black spots dance before his eyes, and caused his head to pound as though it would explode. He groaned through gritted teeth, willing his body to hang on just a little longer. If he lost consciousness now, he was fucking _screwed._

 

He watched through bleary eyes as another blackened cord wound its way around Mustang’s body, trapping his arms as the other had Edward’s, and Edward scowled fiercely. Father _had_ to know that what he was doing wouldn’t make a difference. Mustang still had all of Pride’s powers – was still _using_ Pride’s powers against him – as well as whatever abilities he’d gained from Wrath. The loss of his Flame Alchemy didn’t count for shit in light of _that,_ and Edward had to wonder just what the hell the sick old fuck thought he was doing?

 

Mustang was lifted into the air and thrown to the ground at Edward’s feet, landing with a muted grunt of pain. Pride’s shadows released Father, inexplicably retreating back into the older man’s body. Edward could only watch with disbelief as the First Homunculus landed with an awful splat on the hard concrete floor, his unnatural body shifting and warping in on itself, a bruise-like purple mass that rose up out of itself until the mannish silhouette took form once more.

 

Edward turned back to Mustang with an expression of baffled rage. Why the hell had the crazy bastard had let Father go when he _knew_ that Mustang could have used those shadows to break free?

 

Deep, bottomless black eyes locked onto Edward’s own, and the other man sent him a slow, calculating smile that was nothing short of terrifying. Mustang looked fucking _pleased_ with their predicament, and Edward knew that he’d been right. The older man was intentionally holding back, doing absolutely fucking _nothing_ to save himself _on purpose!_ He’d been fucking _expecting_ whatever the hell was happening to them, and he _wanted_ it to happen. That scared Edward more than he wanted to admit. How the fuck could Mustang know what Father’s motives were, what he planned to do with the country-wide transmutation array, when even Edward himself had no fucking clue?

 

A spark lit the night-black pits that were Mustang’s eyes, the dark lust that Edward had come to dread glinting from deep within their ebony depths, mingled with an unholy anticipation. “Are you ready to see the face of God, my love?”

 

It was a mockery of the intimacy they had once shared, and it infuriated Edward as little else could. “Fuck you!” he snarled furiously, baring his teeth as he thrashed against his bonds. “Don’t you ever fucking call me that, again!”

 

He heard cries of surprise and pain and ripped his gaze from the other man’s. He was grateful for the chance to look away, for the opportunity to ignore his lover’s madness, even if only for a few moments. The change in Roy had been so profound, had happened so fucking _fast,_ that Edward still had trouble accepting it. How could his gorgeous, intelligent, gentle, loving, quick-witted, sarcastic, manipulative bastard of a commanding officer have lost himself like this?!

 

Edward forced his thoughts away from Roy – from Mustang, damn it all; Roy was dead! _–_ and focused on his surroundings. He saw that Teacher, Hohenheim and Al had all been subdued as he had, bound by ties of jet-black darkness, reduced to utter helplessness in the blink of an eye. He didn’t see Mei or Greed anywhere, but with the light show that Father was putting on, he wasn’t too surprised. He could only hope that they had been either thrown clear by the blast, or that they had both been smart enough to get the fuck _out._

 

Edward turned back to his crazed lover and glared at him with unconcealed desperation. “Just tell me what the fuckhe’s doing!” he hollered at the top of his lungs, a heartfelt plea buried in the furious demand. “Tell me so I can fucking _stop_ him! You owe me that much, you bastard!”

 

“But why would you _want_ to stop him?” Mustang questioned in a surprisingly serious tone. He curled his upper body towards Edward, his near-perfect features taking on a disturbingly earnest cast as he continued to speak. “You don’t seem to understand what’s about to happen. Fullmetal, he’s going to open our planet’s _Gate_. He’s going to become a god and I,for one, want to see it.”

 

“A god,” Edward repeated doubtfully. The other man nodded his raven head gravely, and Edward’s lips curved into a sneer of disgust. He didn’t know if their planet _had_ a Gate to open, but if it did, the sheer amount of souls that would be required to power such a large transmutation would be. . .astronomical.

 

Realizations struck him like a blow. “Oh, fuck me,” he whispered in a voice that shook. “You mean, _that’s_ what he created Amestris for? So, he could sacrifice its citizens in a useless attempt to make himself a god? Are you fucking _kidding_ me?!” 

 

“Think about it.” Mustang’s voice dropped to a low, persuasive murmur as he continued to strain towards him. “Soon, he’ll have the power of the entire country – of the entire _world –_ inside of him, and _I_ have the power to devour it all. Just think of what you and I could _do_ with that kind of power, Fullmetal, what kind of _changes_ we could make. We would never again be anyone’s dogs.”

 

“You crazy motherfucker!” Edward hissed, wiggling backwards to make damned well and sure that he was out of the other man’s reach. He didn’t know if Mustang would stick to his guns and let Father go through with the transmutation once the pain set in – and he knew without a doubt that it would fucking hurt – but he wasn’t taking any fucking chances. The last thing he wanted was this monster, this _mockery_ of the man he loved, freeing himself and putting his hands on him!

 

“You didn’t do that transmutation to bring Hawkeye back at all, did you?” he hurled the question at the other man, his voice harsh and accusing, as his heart broke all over again. “You did it to make yourself more powerful! You used her – you used _me –_ to make yourself fucking stronger!”

 

Mustang froze at that, his tautly muscled body going completely still, his midnight gaze never leaving Edward’s horrified face. Brilliant scarlet light flashed across his handsome features, almost hiding the grief that flitted across his face, as the transmutation began. That same soul-deep sorrow, mingled with what looked like regret, was echoed in the darkness of his compelling eyes, and Edward felt his own treacherous heart twist in reluctant response. 

 

“You were dead,” the other man stated roughly, as though that were all the explanation needed for his actions.“You were dead and _I_ was the one who had killed you. How could I let that stand, Fullmetal? How could I be responsible for _your_ death? I _had_ to bring you back, my love.” 

 

“Riza understood,” he continued in an eerily earnest tone, “I knowshe did. She knew how much I loved you. She would have _wanted_ me to sacrifice her if it meant saving _you._ Had she been capable of speech, I know she would have given me her blessing.”

 

Edward recoiled, both from the intensity of his words, and the maddened sincerity in those once-beloved midnight eyes. “You used Hawkeye to bring _me_ back from the dead?” he spat with furious incredulity. “How fucking far gone _are_ you to believe something like that?! You know damn good and well that human transmutation doesn’t fucking work!”

 

Mustang laid his dark head on the floor, jet-black hair falling rakishly across his pale brow, his sensuous lips curling into a smile of warped affection. “And yet, here you are,” he returned simply, “alive and well and as charmingly defiant as ever.”

 

His deep black gaze dropped to Edward’s bare arms, and the smile widened, even as those eyes took on a gleam that further betrayed his unbalanced mind. “You _did_ die, my love,” his rich voice was hushed with reverence, and yet his tone more patronizing than Edward had ever heard it. “I held you in my arms afterwards. I felt your body grow cold against mine, I watched helplessly as the flesh _I_ had burned slid from your bones at my slightest touch. But then I saw your arms, perfect and unblemished and inked in power, and I realized what the Ishvalan had done. He had – fittingly – given his life in an attempt to spare yours. He had failed, but I knew that _I_ could breathe life back into you.” 

 

Mustang lifted his eyes and met his gaze once more, and Edward wondered if he would ever get used to the wild maelstrom of emotion he saw in their normally guarded depths. “And so I did,” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I bled the men I found in the tunnels, the gold-toothed scientist’s failed experiments, and I used them to resurrect you.”

 

One corner of his lips quirked upwards in a smirk reminiscent of the man he’d once been. “They tried to stop me, of course – they _all_ did – but I was too much for them.” It was stated proudly, much to Edward’s disgust. “The child-homunculus thought to sacrifice the doctor and use _me_ to perform human transmutation, but it weakened him and I took him for myself. I used _him_ to destroy the doctor’s mindless lackeys, and I then I used the information I’d gained from The Gate and made sacrifices of them all.”

 

The older man paused, his dark eyes flickering indecipherably, before he spoke again. “You have to understand, Fullmetal. I brought you backbecause I couldn’t bear to lose you. I _couldn’t_ lose you, not like I lost _him,_ not when I had the power to _stop_ it this time.”

 

Him, meaning Brigadier-General Hughes, Edward thought with grief of his own. He’d always wondered just how close Roy and Maes Hughes were, for Hughes’ death to affect Roy so profoundly. Now he knew, though he’d have given _anything_ not to. 

 

“Roy. . .” his voice was little more than strangled whisper as he unconsciously shifted towards the older man, “if there’s anything left of you, help me? Help me stop Father from killing everyone I love – everyone we _both_ love. Roy, _please—”_

 

“You belong to me, Fullmetal.” Mustang just kept talking as though he hadn’t spoken, and Edward shut his eyes in defeat. Roy was gone, and there was no bringing him back. “I couldn’t protect Maes, but I _could_ save you, and that’s exactly what I did. There is nothing I would not do to keep you with me, my love – _nothing.”_

 

“You’re a fucking psychopath!” Edward shouted – or it would have been a shout, had grief not thickened his voice until it was nearly unintelligible. He opened his eyes and glared straight into the deadened portals of his lover’s murdered soul. “When I get my hands free, I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill you like youkilled my Roy, and I’m going to make you fucking _suffer_. Do you hear me, asshole?!”

 

Mustang merely laughed at the threat, that perverse affection lacing the mirth-filled sound. “You say that as though I were no longer myself,” he murmured, the dark silk of his voice taking on a thoughtful cast as he gazed at him. “Haven’t you realized that this _is_ me? I have not changed, my love. It is the world around us which has shifted.” 

 

His uttered a soft sigh, his expression softening dramatically as he lied back on the ground once more, looking more relaxed than anyone had a right to in their present situation. “Soon, you will see, Fullmetal,” he said in a frighteningly _normal_ tone of voice. “Yes, you’ll see and you will _understand,_ and then you’ll stop fighting me.” 

 

Edward opened his mouth to tell him exactly what he thought of _that_ when he felt it. A stirring deep within himself, the coil and flare of alchemy as it was triggered inside of him, but this time it was _different._ Alchemy had always come easily to him, flowing through him as though it were a part of him, as natural to him as breathing. But now, as the energy of Father’s transmutation built and grew and produced a reaction inside of him, there was only pain in the presence of power. No longer natural, it created a physical agony inside of him that nothing short of staggering. It was an ache that pulsed through not only his body but his _soul,_ a living, breathing entity that that clawed at the very fabric of his being and threatened to undo him. 

 

This shouldn’t be possible, he thought numbly, panting as the pain continued to intensify. Even if Father was in control of the transmutation, _he_ shouldn’t be in pain. Hell, he shouldn’t even be able to _feel_ the alchemy as it spiraled higher and higher inside of him – Father’s, yes, but not _his_ _own._ He no longer possessed a Gate, which was the medium necessary for the execution of alchemy. Without that portal, that gateway to the other side, he was just another vulnerable, _defenseless_ human being caught in a madman’s transmutation.

 

And yet as he looked down at himself, and he _saw_ the eye that formed on his torso, he knew that – somehow – he _wasn’t_. It made absolutely no sense, and flew in the face of the science he knew so well, but he couldn’t deny what was staring him right in the face!

 

His gaze shot back to Mustang, and he saw the same phenomenon forming on his chest. The eye was black as night, even darker than Mustang’s own, and as little black tendrils squiggled from its monochromatic surface, Edward realized that there was one distinct difference. He looked back down at himself to confirm what he hadn’t quite registered before, and there it was, blazing with fiery crimson light. Truth’s eye was _red_ as it rotated and took in its surroundings, glowing with an eerie ruby light that reminded Edward of nothing so much as Scar’s Ishvalan eyes.

 

_Scar._

His mind immediately latched onto the name, supplying a horrifying image of the man in his last living moments. Could that be the answer? Edward asked himself incredulously. Had he received Scar’s Gate along with his arms and his power? Fuck, did alkahestrists even _have_ Gates?

 

Then, Edward was struck by an even bigger concern. Had Scar – the Ishvalan who had used the “abominable power” of Amestris’ hated alchemy in combination with Xingese alkahestry to murder State Alchemists in a bloody rampage of revenge – once performed human transmutation?!

 

The thought was quickly forgotten, pushed from his mind as those night-black tendrils, the shadow-hands of The Gate’s Keepers, shot out his own body, from the crimson eye that was his new Truth. They sliced through the air, racing towards Father, their little hands reaching for the homunculus as he grinned in eager anticipation. Others joined them, drawn from the other alchemical “sacrifices”, pitch-black appendages that belonged to a world man was not meant to traverse, and Edward knew that Father’s transmutation had truly begun. 

 

Edward watched as Mustang began to deconstruct, the lithe, muscular body he’d spent hours adoring literally unraveling before his very eyes, reduced to utter nothingness as it was drawn into the void that was Truth’s domain. He shuddered violently as fresh fear flowed through him, knowing that Truth would demand its pound of flesh from all who passed through The Gate. Would there be anything left of Mustang when this was through, or would he simply disappear as Alphonse’s body once had, leaving an empty uniform and a broken Edward in his wake?

 

A flash of dazzling crimson light flared up from his own “eye”, its blood-hued radiance threatening to burn his retinas, and he quickly shut his eyes against its blinding brilliance. He could feel his own body as it began to deconstruct and concentrated on bracing his mind against the flood of information that came with breaking the ultimate taboo. He wondered briefly what would happen to _him_ now that his Gate was gone. Without that all-important portal – _had_ Scar possessed a Gate? – was he even capable of reaching Truth? Or would his body simply be rejected and thrown back into the world of the living, left to live his last few moments on earth as a steaming pile of amalgamated human body parts?

 

An image his mother flashed through his mind – of the thing that he’d _believed_ to be Trisha Elric – from the night of he and Alphonse’s failed human transmutation. He remembered Al’s words, how he’d described being trapped inside the dying monster’s body. It had only been for a few moments, but it had shaken his younger brother deeply. Was that was what awaited _him_ at the end of all this?

 

_“No, alchemist, that is not to be **your** fate.”_

_Edward shuddered violently at the multi-toned voice he knew so well – and hated with a passion – and opened eyes defiant golden eyes. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t hide from it like a scared kid. He’d face what was coming head-on, and he wouldn’t look back. Forward, he reminded himself resolutely. Never look back, always move **forward.**_

****

_Truth stood before him, a blank canvas of luminous white outlined in stark black, its featureless face facing his own with a patience borne from true immortality. What **are** you? Edward wanted to ask, but he knew better than to try. This being, for better or for worse, was as close to God as any human being would ever get, and it **never** gave you a straight answer. Cryptic, often nonsensical bullshit were the only answers it ever offered, and it was left up to the alchemist to make sense of it all afterwards – provided they survived paying their “toll” long enough to puzzle it out. _

_“Twice in one day. A record, even for an alchemist as brilliant as you.” Two black lines appeared in that monochromatic face, curving upwards as they parted to reveal large teeth. “Welcome back, Edward.”_

_“Gee, thanks,” Edward muttered sourly, twitching as he fought an urge to look behind him and see exactly what – if anything – lied behind him now. “What the fuck am I doing here?” he asked instead, cloaking himself in the anger that had been his constant companion for more than four years. **“You** took my Gate – my fucking alchemy, too! – so how the hell did I get here?”_

_“Mysterious are the ways of Ishvala.” Edward could’ve sworn he saw a twinkle in the two crimson eyes that suddenly blazed out of Truth’s invariant face, and he had to grit his teeth against a sudden surge of anger. If nothing else, at least **one** of his questions had been answered._

_“So,” he murmured, half to himself, as those eyes faded back into the black-and-white nothing that was Truth’s face, “I was right. Scar **did** perform human transmutation.”_

_“After a fashion,” Truth answered enigmatically. “Although, you shouldn’t complain, since it’s the only reason that **you** still exist.” _

_So, Mustang had lied about that, too, Edward thought, closing his eyes as a river of grief flowed through him. Or, he was just fucking crazy enough to **believe** that he’d brought Edward back from the dead. Yes, he’d seen Truth at some point during it all, but who’s to say that it wasn’t from Scar’stransmutation as opposed to Mustang’s?_

_Well, no time like the present to find out!_

_“I only remember seeing **you** once before this,” he said at length, opening his eyes to pin Truth under a fierce glare. “How is it possible that I was a part of two human transmutations if I didn’t see you both times?”_

_“A very good question, young alchemist.” Truth’s smile widened fractionally, giving it a slightly demonic appearance. “What do you think the answer is, hhhmmm?”_

_Frustration surged through him at the typically baffling response. “If I knew that, would I have fucking **asked?”** he snapped caustically. “Can’t you just give me a straight fucking answer for once?”_

_“Ponder the nature of the forbidden, Fullmetal Alchemist.” Truth’s own voice, neither masculine nor feminine but a disquieting combination of both, took on a sarcastic tone of its own.Truth’s smile widened suddenly, warping into the shit-eating grin that had always pissed Edward off. “Surely, you’re smart enough to figure **this** out on your own?”_

_Edward narrowed his eyes at the slight to his intelligence, only to open them wide as comprehension came to him. “I didn’t get dragged through The Gate because Scar’s transmutation wasn’t a **full** one,” he breathed with incredulity. “Fuck, I thought it was just an exchange of limbs. I didn’t think that partial human transmutation was even fucking **possible.** How the hell did **Scar** manage it?”_

_“Live and learn,” Truth quipped with a carelessness that reminded Edward of himself, much to his chagrin. “Though, Caleb drew **his** learning from another’s example. I have to admit, I’m surprised he got it right.”_

_“Caleb?” Edward questioned, unable to control the twitch of his lips, despite the seriousness of the situation. “Scar’s name was **Caleb?”**_

_There was no answer, simply another disquieting smile, and Edward shook his golden head. “And the ‘example’ he drew from?” he asked in a quiet, more somber tone of voice. “Was it his brother?”_

_A careless shrug that was surprisingly human was Truth’s only response, but it was answer enough for Edward. He remembered Mei, her young voice quivering with emotion, as she told he and Alphonse Scar’s sad story. A state alchemist – Kimblee, he learned later – had come upon Scar and his family as they argued about whether to run or to fight the invading Amestrians. The Crimson Alchemist had used his alchemy to literally turn the ground beneath their feet into a friggin’ bomb. It had exploded beneath their feet, but not before Kimblee himself had given Scar the wound that had become his moniker. Scar had lost both of his arms, and his older brother – alchemist and scholar – had sacrificed his own limbs to keep his younger sibling alive._

_As though reading his thoughts, Truth said, “The Ishvalan alchemist was a rare one, indeed. Very much like you, in some ways, though he lacked **your** strength of will. You, Edward Elric, are quite unique in that respect.”_

_Edward shook his golden head a second time in denial, still reeling from the knowledge that Mustang had performed the first – the **only** – successful human transmutation in history. While **he** might be a genius when it came to alchemy, the Flame Alchemist had obviously surpassed him. His own knowledge came only because he’d been through the Portal of Truth three – no, four– freakin’ times now. How had Roy managed to keep his own genius hidden for so long? _

_“How do I stop him?” he asked abruptly, lifting his head and nailing Truth under a determined glower that didn’t quite hide the heartache in his amber eyes. “I know I can’t bring Roy back, but how do I keep **Mustang** from killing anyone else?”_

_“Alone, you cannot.”_

_Edward scowled darkly but didn’t have time to ask what that meant as an image appeared in his mind. It was yet another circle, a complicated, nearly incomprehensible array that would take a lifetime for a dedicated alchemist to unravel. Two concentric circles marked the circumference of the array, while a confusing jumble of hexagons, rhombus’, linked circles, and archaic alchemic symbols were mixed in with the more familiar sigils of modern Amestrian alchemy. While he was no expert on foreign alchemy, he was pretty damned sure that a few of those sigils were even Xingese in origin._

 

_“Fuck,” he muttered roughly, realizing that he had his work cut out for him. He might be a genius, but even he had his limits. He only hoped that **this** wasn’t beyond them. “You can get the fuck out of my head now. I’ve got it.”_

_The image faded, and a strange calm overtook him. He nodded to himself, sure that the answer lied somewhere in that new array. He didn’t yet understand it, or know what it did, but eventually he **would.** He’d get the alkahestric knowledge he needed from Mei, if he could. If nothing else, Ling could at least tell him what the symbols represented. He’d figure the rest out on his own. And if he couldn’t. . ._

_Well, if worse came to worst, he didn’t **have** to know what the array did to use it. The unknown was always dangerous when it came to alchemy, but he’d do whatever he fucking had to to stop Mustang. It was as simple as that._

_For now, he needed to return and help the others stop Father from murdering all of Amestris. Once **that** was done, he’d find a way to restrain Mustang long enough to decipher the array and figure out how to **kill** the Flame Alchemist. “I know what I have to do, now.” His normally rich voice was inflection-less as he opened eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed. “You can send me back. I’m done here.”_

_Truth’s grin vanished as though it had never been. “And your toll?” it questioned archly. “What price will you pay for the knowledge you have received this day, alchemist?”_

_Edward made a rude sound and crossed his arms over his chest. “Charge Mustang,” he said, his full lips curving into a bitter, nasty smile. “After all, you let **my** brother’s body pay for his passage before. You can do the same for **me** now.”_

_The monochromatic being before him gave the impression of throwing its head back by widening its “lips” until its large white teeth were all that remained of its face. Laughter spilled out of the immortal creature, thousands of voices laughing in synchronized amusement, and Edward could only hope that it wasn’t at **his** expense._

_The laughter stopped abruptly, Truth’s smile sliding back down its blank face to a more “human” position. “Done,” it said simply, lifting one flesh-and-metal toned arm to point at a spot behind him. “It’s time for you to go, Edward. Will you be all right?”_

_Edward managed a lopsided smile as he heard the cavernous creaking of a Gate at his back. “I’ll be fine,” he answered with resolve, closing his eyes as he felt the first ‘hand’ touch him. He never saw the metal bleed out of Truth’s right arm, nor the fond smile that the immortal being bestowed upon him, as he was pulled backwards through what he assumed was Scar’s Gate. He merely went limp and gave himself over to the Keepers, determined to absorb all the knowledge that he could during his passage, so that he could make damned sure that he **never** had to come here again. _

 

When he opened his eyes, the chaos of the world he knew had returned. The First Homunculus was laughing maniacally, the sound high and insane, as he verbally channeled a god that Edward couldn’t see. What he _could_ see was Greed, throwing himself against the alchemic barrier surrounding the circle. Each attack of armored claws was rebuffed by the energy of the transmutation, and more than once Edward saw the crimson brilliance which indicated that the homunculus’ body was healing. That Greed, who had nothing to gain from helping them and _everything_ to lose by going against Father, was willing to hurt himself to help them told Edward all the he needed to know. No matter how annoying Greed’s flippant attitude was, and despite the fact that he seemed determined to keep Ling’s conscious suppressed beneath his own, Edward knew that he’d made the right decision by allying with him. He already considered the homunculus a friend, and he hoped to hell they both survived long enough for him to teach Greed exactly what that meant. 

 

If nothing else, Edward was pretty sure he’d figured out why Father had been so willing to discard him as a sacrifice. When he and Al had confronted Father the first time, the First Homunculus had been able to somehow disable their alchemy, but both Scar and Mei had been unaffected. He knew that Alkahestry was different from Amestrian alchemy, but he hadn’t known exactly what Scar’s alchemy _was_ then _._ Now, he knew that Scar’s brother had created his arrays from a unification of Amestrian Alchemy and Xingese Alkahestry, and that the alkahestry was interwoven so deeply into those arrays that it was nearly indistinguishable from its alchemic elements. Father had almost no direct knowledge of Xing’s bastardized alchemy, and Edward was willing to bet that his lack of knowledge meant that he couldn’t _control_ it. And if he couldn’t control it. . .

 

It would be a risk, Edward knew. What he was about to attempt would kill him if it didn’t work – hell, it’d probably kill him even if it _did –_ but it might be the only chance he had to stop the First Homunculus _._ If nothing else, it would give the old bastard one _hellova_ surprise!

He grinned ferally and closed his eyes, concentrating on the paired arrays that were now a permanent part of his flesh. He sorted through the athenaeum of his conscious mind, finding and discarding alchemic arrays at a pace that would stagger most human psyches. He might be a fucking genius, but without his knowledge of the Gate, he never would’ve been able to attempt this. His own knowledge of alkahestry was _really_ fucking limited, but thanks to Truth, a lot of the information _was_ there. He just had to find it, preferably before Father finished sucking the fucking _life_ out of his goddamned country!

 

_There!_ he thought with excitement, pulling the array from the depths of his consciousness. It was an awkwardly beautiful formation, consisting of several circles which flowed and looped together, forming a halo was filled with opposing geometric designs. All the elemental sigils were accounted for, as well as the eye that represented Truth, the sun, and the two-headed dragon. 

 

And in the center of the array eye lay a coiled winged serpent. The serpent devoured its own tail, signifying infinity and unity, while the circle it formed represented infinity. In the center of the sigil was the hexagram, which denoted both human transmutation or – in this case – a solar eclipse.

 

It wasn’t alkahestry, but it _was_ motherfucking perfect, Edward thought with a wicked smile. At this time, on this day, the eclipse was in full fucking swing, painting the skies of Amestris with unrelenting darkness. That very darkness was about to be The First Homunculus’ undoing, compliments of the Fullmetal Alchemist – and a murdered Ishvalan warrior-monk-turned-serial-killer. He had the perfect plan, the perfect conduit to carry it out, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

 

He uncurled his fisted hands and set them flat against his thighs, feeling the power build inside of him before he even activated the array. He knew there was a good chance that this could backfire on him. The amount of power he was amassing was definitely enough to kill him, and even if it didn’t, if he somehow survived the initial transmutation, the alchemic backlash from Father’s failed transmutation would almost certainly devour him whole. Still, it was the only thing he could think of to stop Father from destroying the country and killing everyone he loved. He didn’t _want_ to die, but that knowledge alone was enough to make the sacrifice _worth it_ if he did _._

 

He clenched his teeth and let the power flow through him, strangely harmonic streams of pure alchemic energy. For the first time, he could feelMei’s _chi,_ could actually _see_ Ling’s fabled Dragon’s Pulse as it flowed beneath the earth, and it was a beautiful, unsettling thing. The alchemic serpent uncoiled inside of him and leapt from his body, slithering along the coils of darkness that contained him, racing up the length of the shadowy chain that bound him to Father. The powerful actinic energy flashed and pulsed, bathing he and Father and the entire underground chamber with a brilliant azure light. It completely eclipsed the rich scarlet of Father’s alchemy as it slammed into The First Homunculus in a burst of raw, unconstrained power.

 

The purple blob with a thousand eyes threw its head back and let out a _scream,_ the likes of which Edward had never heard before. Multi-toned and filled with a conflicting combination of triumph and agony, it shook the very foundations of the homunculi lair. Edward screamed along with him – with _them,_ the remnants of the once-great Xerxesian civilization. Driven insane by their centuries trapped within Father, rage was his own. His cries echoed theirs as his consciousness blended and merged with them until he couldn’t tell where they ended and he began.

 

But they weren’t the only ones. He shared the pain of fifty thousand Amestrian citizens as their souls were forcibly ripped from their physical bodies in a cacophony of pain and grief and terror. He could feel the souls of those he knew, writhing in spiritual agony as they were sucked closer and closer to the endless abyss that was Father’s empty core. Winry, Granny Pinako, Ran Fan, Havoc, Feury, Falman, Breda, Sig, Major Armstrong. . .he felt them _all._

 

He tried to help, tried to marshal his thoughts long enough to lead them back to the bodies they’d left behind, but to no avail. As strong as the power he’d gained from Scar undoubtedly was, it was no match for four hundred years of accumulated alchemical knowledge. Those he knew and loved – and those he didn’t – were drawn so deeply into Father that they would never again be separate beings. Just like the citizens of Xerxes, all that was left to them was an eternity of pain and madness as a part of The First Homunculus.

 

A low, mocking laugh, all but lost beneath the roar of Father’s alchemic transmutation, reached his ears. Edward gritted his teeth as impotent fury rushed through him at the sound. They had just been forced to help Father open the planet’s Gate, had been a part of the _genocide_ of their own fucking people, and Mustang was _laughing?!_

 

_Bastard!_ Edward thought angrily, _this was all **his** fault!_ If he had been just a little stronger, if he hadn’t _given in_ to his goddamned anger, this never would’ve happened. Roy would have been here to help them _defeat_ Father and _save_ Amestris.Instead, Mustang had just helped The First Homunculus destroy their whole fucking country! 

 

And then, all cognizant thought ceased as the power of two very different transmutations rebounded on the alchemists who had triggered them. The backlash drew Edward’s body taut, alchemic energy tearing through his body and mind in a symphony of pain and destruction that seemed to have no end. It snapped his head back until he thought his spine would snap, setting every nerve-ending he possessed aflame at once. His throat closed on a scream, actinic energy compressing his lungs even as it continued to devour him whole.

 

And still, that fucking laughter never _stopped._

 

Distantly, other voices came to him, hoarse with pain and thinned by strain, as the others fought to free themselves from Father’s insanity. He heard a loud, tinny gasp and flinched as he realized that it was Alphonse, reeling from a pain he shouldn’t be able to feel. The rebound was spilling over and through the other alchemists in a tidal wave of unstoppable power. The alchemy didn’t care that they hadn’t been a willing part of either transmutation, only that they _had_ been a part of it, and that they were still connected to it. It would devour them whole if he didn’t find a way to stop it. What would he do if they didn’t survive his brash, impulsive, _dangerous_ plan? 

 

Edward forced himself to think past the excruciating physical agony and focus on the energy of the transmutation itself. He fought to regain control of it, to draw the energy back to he and Father, where it belonged. The two of them had started this. It was only right that they be the ones to suffer the consequences.

 

But alchemy had no care for wrong or right, nor the equivalent exchange he’d worshipped all his life. The energy was a thoughtless, mindless beast, existing only to fulfill its purpose as it climbed higher and higher. It built to a crescendo, flaring as hotly as Mustang’s fires, a metaphysical explosion that tore at the very fabric of his being with unprejudiced greed. 

 

Finally, the laughter fucking _ceased,_ but Edward was in no condition to appreciate its absence as the warring transmutations finally came to an end. He slumped bonelessly on the cold stone floor, panting as exhaustion sapped the strength from his limbs, the absence of pain leaving a disturbing numbness in its wake. All he could hear was the thud of his heart, beating at a frantic pace as it pounded in time with the hammering in his head, reverberating through his skull until it was all he could do to remain conscious.

 

He wasn’t dead, he thought distantly, the thought flitting across the blank landscape of his exhausted mind. He had survived something that, by all rights, should have killed him, and he could only wonder why. He had been a part of Father’s transmutation, an unwilling pawn – a sacrifice – in human transmutation on a grand scale. That alone should’ve been enough to finish him. Yes, he’d bargained with Truth for his passage, but the rebound from his own transmutation _should_ have killed him. So, why hadn’t it?

 

He thought of the eye that had opened on his chest, of that gleaming crimson orb that had looked at the world with such greedy curiosity, and the matching set that had appeared so briefly on Truth’s face, and wondered if that had something to do with it. Had it been the same for the others? Had they seen something different in Truth too, or had he been the only one? Had something in Father’s array made it that way, or had the change in his alchemy changed something inside of _him?_

Edward looked within himself – within his mind – for the answer, but all he received was ominous silence in return. Forcing down a faint sense of panic, he flicked through the athenaeum of his mind, and was relieved to find that all of his previous alchemical knowledge – as well as what he had gained today – seemed to be intact. Which meant that Truth _hadn’t_ fucked him over this time.

 

Always nice to know, he thought dazedly, wincing as sudden light seemed to burn through his closed lids and lance through his already aching skull. He dragged his reluctant eyes open, the concussive haze clouding his vision doing nothing to conceal the damage that he and Father’s chaotic alchemic war had wrought in the secret bowels below Central Command. 

 

The large metal pipes that ran through the length of the chamber and into the ceiling had blown apart. Twisted and melted from the heat of the alchemic explosion, thin wisps of steam and smoke rose from their still smoldering pieces. The walls beyond them were pitted with blackened holes that told the tale of alchemy gone awry, while the ground was little more than a rutted minefield of uneven earth, all but buried under a literal ton of rubble.

 

He looked up to see that the high ceiling had completely collapsed, leaving nothing but random pieces of broken rebar behind. Bent and twisted, they rained down small pieces of drywall and broken cement as they swayed in the warm afternoon breeze. Beyond it, he saw the light that had seemed so blindingly bright only moments before. It was nothing but a thin crescent of golden light, shimmering as it peeked cheekily from behind the darkened sphere of the moon. It was a beautiful sight despite what its presence had set in motion, and it showed that the eclipse was nearly at its end, though not soon enough to save Amestris.

 

Edward looked down at his bare, bloodstained hands, and felt the sting of guilt. Here he was, still alive – still fucking _breathing_ – while everyone else in the fucking country was dead! He was still sprawled gracelessly on the cracked and pitted stone floor of the homunculi lair, with two flesh arms and one whole automail leg. It was complete and utter bullshit. He shouldn’t still be alive, he should have died with the rest of—

 

He blinked, his jaw dropping open with shock, as he realized just what he was staring at. His automail leg, twisted and broken and practically useless before, had been mended as though it had never been damaged in the first place. He moved his leg experimentally, tensing in automatic anticipation of the pain to come, but there was nothing. Only the whisper of gears, almost too low to be heard, as his leg moved with well-oiled efficiency.

 

What the fuck? he thought incredulously. It had been all but destroyed, damn it! It should have taken a mechanic and hours of surgery to fix both it and the damaged port. How was this even fucking _possible?!_

 

He glanced down at his newly restored leg and smiled grimly to himself. It didn’t matter how his automail had been restored. All that mattered was that he was as whole as he was ever going to be, and that he was no longer bound by Father’s shadows or _anything_ else. He could fucking _fight_ again, and it was time to kill Mustang and Father and put and end to this once and for all!

 

Edward slapped his palms onto the floor and shoved himself into a sitting position. His gaze swung automatically to back to where Mustang lied, expecting –hoping – to find his deranged lover either unconscious or dead. Instead, he found nothing. No body, no blood, no empty military uniform, just open space where Mustang should have been. Had Mustang paid Edward’s toll with his entire _body?_ Had he been _completely_ absorbed by The Gate? Could he possibly – hopefully – be fucking _dead?_

 

“You!” Edward jumped, startled by the furious exclamation that thundered through the cavernous chamber. It was followed by a pulse of light so intense that spots danced before his eyes for minutes afterwards. “Lowly human, do you still think to defeat _me?_ I am the God of this world!”

 

_“Defeat_ you?” Dread unfurled in his gut at the dark silk that was Mustang’s voice sounded somewhere in the shadows behind him. Goddamnit, he thought viciously. Of course, he fucking wasn’t dead. He should have _known_ the bastard would still be alive. Healed leg aside, his fucking luck was as rotten as ever!

 

“No,” dark amusement threaded its way through the velvety tone, “Fullmetal has already done _that._ I’m just here to reap the rewards of my subordinate’s hard work.”

 

The light pulsed again and Edward’s head whipped around in response. He spun around on his ass, hissing as white-hot sparks of pain went shooting through his aching head. The world spun viciously before his eyes, sending waves of nausea rolling through him. He swallowed the bitter bile down and narrowed his eyes, forcing them to focus as he searched for the source of the blinding light. 

 

He found it, a golden sphere of pure golden light, a miniature _sun_ , hovering just above the flesh and blood palm of the First Homunculus. Father stood before the large mound of stone that vaguely resembled his throne, no longer the purple-skinned monstrosity that he’d become before the transmutation. In its place was a handsome, vibrant young man with tawny skin and shimmering golden eyes. Long strands of shining gold hair flowed over his naked shoulders, framing a face that was as handsome as it was cruel. It was a face that Edward knew nearly as well as he knew his own, and had spent more than half of his life hating.

 

It was like looking into a mirror and seeing a young Von Hohenheim staring back at him. This was the face of Slave 23, of the young Xerxesian whose blood had been used by his master to create the very first artificial human. But as distant and unreachable as the Von Hohenheim had seemed to Edward as a child, the cruel cunning that lit up those familiar amber eyes and twisted those thin lips was pure Father. His old man might be an asshole, but he wasn’t a sadistic one!

 

And standing before Father was Mustang. The Flame Alchemist had his back to him, but Edward had no problem imagining the expression on his face. He was probably smirking, arrogant as only he could ever be, supremely confident in his abilities as both an alchemist and a soldier – and maybe even as a monster. The fact that he was crazy as fuck wouldn’t make a difference _here._ Father was just as insane, in his own way, and even more powerful. And now that he had absorbed the knowledge of the planet’s Gate, there was a good chance that it would be _Mustang_ who fell if the two fought a second time.

 

God, he fucking hoped so!

 

“Hohenheim’s son is no longer of any consequence,” Father said in a haughty, almost bored tone of voice, his own confidence evident in the smug, cruel smile that curved his lips. “He and the others have served their purpose. As for you, alchemist. . .”

 

The golden orb flared once, sending a wave sheer power gusting through the room. Edward winced as it rolled over him, knocking him onto his back as the breath left his lungs in a rush. He blinked and slowly sat up, ignoring his head as it thudded in protest. He didn’t know what the fuck that was – it sure as hell hadn’t _felt_ like alchemy – but he wasn’t going to give Father a chance to use it on _him._ He was going to help the crazy psycho kick Mustang’s ass, and then he was going to tear him apart.

 

He looked up to see Mustang, surrounded by golden brilliance, cloaked in a thick amber haze that would devour him as he had devoured so many others. Edward forced himself to watch, not to flinch away from the sight of the man he loved as he met his death. This was what he’d wanted, to see Mustang pay for what he had done. Crazy or not, he fucking _deserved_ this. No matter how much it stabbed at his own shattered heart, he knew that this was the way it _had_ to be. 

 

Father’s smile widened, deepened, as the sadistic glint in his golden eyes deepened. “I’ll be taking back my children’s souls, now. They will become a part of me once again, and _you_ will become a part of my greater whole.” He paused briefly. “You should be honored, human.”

 

Mustang’s laughter rang out, cold and mocking and oh-so amused, as he casually reached out and laid a graceful gloved hand over the luminous sphere. It – and the haze surrounding him – burst apart, shattering into a myriad of glittering golden sparks. They faded as they drifted towards the ground, winking out of existence as though they had never been, leaving a stunned demigod in their place.

 

“Did you truly believe that you were the only one to absorb the knowledge of our planet’s Gate, homunculus?” 

 

_Oh, fuck!_ Edward tensed and quickly drew his legs under him, prepared to run for his life if necessary. But for now, he thought it best if kept himself right where he was and kept his fucking mouth _shut._ The last thing he wanted was to draw their attention to him! 

 

A dark frown pulled at Father’s brow as he took a slow, measured step back. He lifted his chin proudly, jagged streaks of alchemic energy beginning to dance around his feet. “You are nothing more than an insignificant insect,” his body began to take on a disturbing violet glow, “fit only to be crushed under the foot of your betters.”

“You know, Fuhrer Bradley – Wrath, I believe you called him? – said something very similar to me once.” Mustang’s tone was eerily casual as Pride’s shadows billowed threateningly around his back. “You can see how well that turned out for _him.”_

“That was obviously a mistake.” Golden eyes narrowed consideringly. “The scientists assured me that placing a human-based homunculus in the position of Fuhrer would be necessary to rule over the human rabble. I see now that they were wrong. I believe that I will simply rule the whole of the world myself. You, however,” his alchemy flared brightly around him, “will not live to see it.”

 

Those tawny eyes, so much like Edward’s own, locked menacingly on the Flame Alchemist’s, murderous intent clear in their brilliant depths, even through the crimson haze of alchemic energy. So, the bastard was just going to walk away from the death of Amestris and start over in another fucking country? Edward thought furiously. He thought that he was going to _rule_ over the entire fucking planet?! 

 

NO. FUCKING. WAY.

 

Edward pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the way his head swam and his vision shifted in and out of focus. He willed his head to settle the fuck down; he didn’t just want to _watch_ this battle, he wanted to be a fucking part of it! He would help Mustang instead of Father, and once they were through, it would be _his_ turn.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skalidra's works can be found here: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3625016/Skalidra, for those who are interested:)


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